Looking Back
by RachelFish
Summary: She knew when she met him she wouldn't be able to deny him anything. Is that how she ended up pregnant at 16 and left to handle it alone? Bella raises her daughter with the help of her family... but what about the person who matters most?
1. Chapter 1

**For this chapter and all future chapters: I don't own Twilight or its characters.**

**Many thanks to my talented beta, Tiffanyanne3.**

****Horizontal lines represent shifts in time (assuming FFn actually shows them)****

**Chapter 1**

**-0-0-0-**

I was sixteen the first time I met Edward Cullen. He was older, just two grades ahead of me, and he was my brother's best friend.

He was smooth, charming, a bit cocky, and painfully good looking. My mother said he could sweet talk his way out of a paper bag, and she was probably right. I never even felt myself falling for him. It just was.

In hindsight, maybe I was nothing but a game to him. Pliable clay that he could mold just the way he wanted. I was young, inexperienced, naive, and desperately eager to please him…to make him think I was worthy of his attention. His celebrity-like status at the high school in our small Texas town left me reeling—wondering how the hell I'd managed to snag even one moment of his time, much less entire nights with him in my bed. I didn't question it, though, for fear I'd jinx it. I did whatever I could to make him happy, to prove myself worthy of his attention.

More than likely, looking back, that's exactly how I ended up losing my virginity to Edward Cullen on the cold leather seats in the back of the Volvo he'd borrowed from his mother.

More than certain, looking back, that's exactly how I ended up pregnant with his baby. A little girl who became my entire world and my reason for existing…even if I didn't know it then.

**.**

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**7 years later…**

I can't sleep. It's nothing new, I can't _ever_ sleep. When I close my eyes, I see lists and dollar signs. Things I need to do and bills I need to pay float behind my eyelids in place of slow, jumping sheep.

Pack Ava's lunch. Check.

Make sure her library books are in her backpack. Check.

Turn in tuition reimbursement forms. Shit. Did I ever fill those out?

The numbers on the alarm clock roll dutifully forward, and I'm reminded of how much sleep I'm missing and how much I'll regret that fact in the morning. Shit. I forgot to push the self-start button on the coffee maker!

I sigh heavily, frustrated with myself, and kick the covers off my legs. Standing, I grab my robe, and maneuver out of my bedroom without even bothering to turn on any lights. No need…I walked these floors in darkness hundreds of times when Ava was a baby.

I make my way to the kitchen and press the self-start button on the coffee maker. At the very least, I'll have the necessary boost of caffeine to soothe my zombie ways when morning rolls around.

Trudging back to the opposite end of the small house, I stop once to pick up a dinosaur that has been left—pointy plastic tail up—in the middle of the floor. I roll my eyes at the Doritos bag left open on the coffee table. A small pile of chip crumbs litters the table around the bag and the floor beneath it.

Ugh. Pig.

I consider cleaning the bag and mess up, but decide that a lesson in stale chips is warranted. This is one-of many-ongoing themes with my roommate. Ignoring the crumbs, I make my way down the hall.

Pausing outside Ava's room, I take a moment to inhale her sweet scent. Her room smells perfectly like her—a mixture of the shampoo I use to help with her tangles, and the Tinkerbell perfume she douses herself with. Tiptoeing in quietly, I gather up the fallen, stuffed friends that she's managed to kick out of bed during the night, and peer at her sweet sleeping face by the yellow light of the nightlight plugged in near her bed. Her tiny pink lips are puckered into a sweet concentrated frown and her long, dark eyelashes rest peacefully on her soft cheeks. I run my finger down her upturned nose and smooth the tangled mass of hair back from her forehead.

It never ceases to amaze me how much she still looks like a baby when she sleeps. It's the only time, these days, that I'm able to see traces of the same baby I held in my arms the very first day she came into my world. The same tiny puckered lips, the same upturned nose. During the day, when she's awake and full of sass and curiosity, she seems grown and every bit her six-year-old self…but at night, when she's sleeping peacefully, my tiny baby returns.

And that baby looks exactly like Edward Cullen.

.

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><p>.<p>

"Morning, Birdie." Emmett's sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes half closed and his head held up by his massive hand. The opened bag of chips that taunted me the night before sits in front of him, next to a steaming cup of coffee.

….a cup of coffee that had obviously been taken from the coffee pot that I'd gotten up to program just a few short hours earlier.

"Seriously, Em, you couldn't leave me a single cups' worth?"

"Yeah, well, guess what?" he mumbles, his mouth partially hidden by the palm of his hand. "My chips are all stale."

"Serves you right. You shouldn't have left your shit open all over the coffee table." I busy myself with refilling the coffee maker and preparing my cup.

"You saw them open, and you didn't even close 'em up! You suck. You know those were my favorites."

"I'm not your mother, Emmett, and I'm not your wife. I've told you before I'm not cleaning up after your filthy ass more than is absolutely necessary. Just yesterday, I was sabotaged when a pair of your disgusting socks made it in with a load of my laundry. Honestly, why can't you put on shoes to walk outside? You're a twenty-four-year-old man! You haven't learned how to avoid getting leaves and mud stuck to your socks?"

He stands from the table and tosses the wasted chip bag in the trashcan, then shuffles his way over to me and ruffles my hair. "I knew if I put my shit in with yours you'd wash it for me."

He runs his hand over the top of my hair so that it pulls down over my face in a matted sheet. "Thanks, little sister," he says.

I exhale harshly and blow my hair back out of my face, then pour myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

"Asshole," I mutter.

.

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><p>.<p>

**Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

So grateful for my fantastic beta, Tiffanyanne3

**Chapter 2**

**-0-0-0-**

Emmett is like a bull in a china shop, so it's obvious when he leaves for work and the house gets quiet, save for the sounds of Ava puttering around in her bathroom (putting on more of that perfume, most likely).

I blow-dry my hair quickly and tie it up in a ponytail then dab a bit of mascara on my lashes and add a touch of lip balm. As I stand back to check my reflection, I'm reminded that I look older than my twenty-two years. While my high school girlfriends were playing with makeup and experimenting with hairstyles, I was reading pregnancy books and picking out baby names. I sort of missed the style boat.

"Five minutes until liftoff!" I call out to Ava. I pause, waiting for her answering reply, but I hear nothing.

"Hello?" I call out again.

Nothing.

I sigh, grab my earrings and begin putting them on as I make my way to Ava's bathroom. She's there, standing in front of the mirror, watching her reflection while she smacks her lips and applies coat after coat of the sparkly lip shit Emmett's girlfriend filled her stocking with last Christmas.

"Five minutes until liftoff," I say again.

"Mom," she meets my eyes through the mirror. "I totally heard you the first time."

"Well, an 'okay, mom' would have been nice," I tell her.

"Can I put my lipgloss in my purse and take it to school?" she asks by way of acknowledgement.

I shake my head in defeat. She's only six, but sometimes I wonder if she was born a tiny adult trapped in the body of a baby.

"Sure thing. Let's go."

We head out to the car, and I wait patiently while she climbs into her carseat and straps herself in. I check the buckles to make sure they're tight and then settle myself in the driver's seat and start the car. My mind is already in two different places at once. I'm listening to Ava propose the world's longest hypothetical about her dream trip to Dinoworld, but I'm rattling off my work and school schedule mentally, making sure I've got all my shit together before we drive off to start our day.

"Ready?" I say.

"Set," Ava answers.

"Go!" And we're off.

I've just pulled up to Ava's school and am about to put the car in park when my phone chimes with a text message.

It's Emmett, and I'm instantly wary, since the only time he ever texts me is when he wants something, or he's done something and he's too scared to tell me in person.

You'll never guess who just came in to the bank...

Emmett and his longtime girlfriend, Rosalie, both work at a local bank. Rosalie was Emmett's boss when they first met, although they're now in separate departments. I still like reminding him who the boss is…or was… though.

I take a moment to text him back before I unbuckle Ava.

I give up. Who?

I throw my phone in the cup holder and climb out of the car. I unload Ava, and together we put on her backpack and make sure she has her beloved purse—and lipgloss—before we head inside the school. I greet her teacher and remind her that I'll be bringing the cookies for the school's bake sale on Friday, and then I bend down to say good-bye to Ava.

"Bye, Bug," I say. "Have a good day. Learn a lot, talk a little."

I have to remind her of this often; her teacher says she's quite chatty.

"I know, Mom," she says with a sigh. Her pretend exasperation is just an act, though, and she proves me right by leaning in to give me a sloppy kiss and a tight hug. I hope she never outgrows that.

I wave good-bye to her teacher and head for the door.

I've barely made it out of the classroom, and already I've turned my brain to school and work mode. I'll spend the morning at school, fitting in as many classroom credits as I can before it's time for me to head to my afternoon/evening job at the restaurant where I wait tables. Emmett picks Ava up from school for me, and they get dinner started so we can eat together as a family when I get home. After dinner it's bathtime, storytime, bedtime for Ava, and then online school-time for me.

I shudder to ask what Emmett does in his free time.

I'm mentally running through the books I'll need for today's classes and the homework I'm due to turn in while I climb back into the car. I throw my bag over on the passenger seat, and my phone catches my eye from its place in the cup holder. I shouldn't leave it in the car, I know this. Emmett lectures me daily.

I'd all but forgotten about my text conversation with my brother, so when I see my screen light up with an incoming text notification, I'm reminded that I was waiting on his response about who'd visited him at the bank.

I pick up my phone and swipe my thumb over the screen to unlock it. Emmett's text is the only thing displayed, and the font appears huge.

Edward Cullen.

My stomach instantly climbs up into my throat, and my hands shake as I bring them up to grasp the steering wheel.

Edward Cullen. Edward Fucking Cullen.

Just hearing his name, after all these years, makes me feel like I'm sixteen all over again…

* * *

><p>The summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school, I start feeling like I can't relax in my own home. Emmett and his best friend, Edward, are inseparable, and they've spent every day this summer lounging on our couch or in our pool.<p>

Gone are the days of walking around in my ratty sleep shirt and underwear. Gone are the days of spending hours on the couch –my hair crispy with dried chlorine from yesterday's swim—watching reruns of The Cosby Show.

Suddenly, I'm concerned about my tan lines, and whether or not my boobs look as perky as the girls on the covers of the dirty magazines Emmett hides under his bed.

I sneak out onto our back deck one Tuesday afternoon with a book in one hand and my favorite pool towel in the other. Pausing to look around the yard, I sigh with relief when I realize that Emmett and Edward are nowhere to be seen.

I spread my towel out on my favorite chair and make my way over to the pool to take a dip. After diving in, I swim from one end of the pool to the other, then turn over on my back and float lazily in the deep end, enjoying the feel of the sun. I've just closed my eyes to block out the brightness when I feel something….or someone, land on top of me, dragging me down to the bottom of the pool. Punching and kicking my way to the top, I choke and sputter, gasping for air.

"Goddammit, Emmett!" I push my wet hair out of my eyes and punch him, hard, on his stupid arm.

He splays his giant hands in defense and jumps out of my reach. "Calm down, Birdie. We just wanted to swim with you."

We?

Oh no. No no no…

I turn around slowly and sure enough, there he is.

Edward's standing on the edge of the pool, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung black swim shorts and a smirk.

His smirk turns to into a grin.

I am instantly mortified. I look down and am reminded that I'm in my old, faded one-piece Speedo swimsuit. My only two-piece is still wet from my swim yesterday and sitting upstairs in my hamper.

I keep my eyes low as I climb out of the pool and scurry over to wrap up in my towel

"Don't be shy, Birdie," my stupid brother mocks me from the pool.

I dry off hastily and begin gathering my things to head back inside.

"You don't have to go, Bella," Edward says, clearing his throat lightly.

"Oh, I know," I say. "I've got a bunch of stuff to do today, so…"

My skin burns when he steps closer to me and grabs my wrist.

I can't breathe. I can't do anything except stand there dripping water and staring down at his feet. His perfect fucking feet.

He tugs my wrist once and nods his head toward my chair, asking me silently to sit down.

My cheeks flame hot as I re-wrap my towel tightly underneath my armpits and lower myself slowly back into my pool chair.

"You're red, Birdie." Emmett hollers from the pool. "Go put some sunscreen on. Mom'll kill you if you burn."

I fold my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around my knees, humiliated.

"I'm serious, Birdie," my brother drones on. "There's some SPF 70 in the pool house. You need it."

I rest my hot face on my knees and close my eyes in mortification. "Okay, Emmett. Geez…" I mutter.

I'll probably kill him later tonight.

Willing my face to de-flame, I keep my head hidden between my knees, studying each fiber of my towel as though it holds the key to an alter life; one where I don't have a brother. My thoughts are interrupted by the soft splat of something cold on my back. Edward's hands are like fire on my skin as he slowly begins to rub the suntan lotion over my shoulders and arms.

I hold my breath the entire time, not daring to lift my head or breathe.

He gives my right shoulder a slight squeeze: a silent, I'm all done.

I raise my head and immediately squint my eyes to shield them from the brightness of the sun. He's standing above me, and with the sun behind him all I can see is his looming silhouette.

"Thanks," I say shyly.

"No problem, Birdie," he says, and although I can't see his face, I can hear in his voice that he's smirking again.

"Don't call me that," I mumble. I don't want him to think I'm some stupid kid...which, sadly, is exactly what I am.

He chuckles lowly and watches me while he walks backwards toward the pool, where he turns abruptly and cannonballs in to join Emmett.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks to my fabulous beta, **Tiffanyanne3**.

**Chapter 3**

**-0-0-0-**

My lungs feel like they're being crushed, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. In addition to feeling physical pain at the mention of his name—Edward Cullen—I'm mad. Mad that those two words alone still warrant such a strong reaction from me, even after all these years.

My mind races with a myriad of thoughts and scenarios, and I try desperately to wrap my brain around why he would be visiting Emmett's bank. Was it a coincidence? Did he want to speak to Emmett? Did he want to speak to Emmett about me? Or—I choke on a sob—Ava?

The ringing of my cell phone snaps me out of my daze and forces me to pull the first deep breath I've taken in what must have been minutes. Emmett's name blinks out a pattern on the screen, and I stare at it until my eyes blur.

"Hello?" I answer, my voice sounding tiny and far away in my own head.

"Where'd you go, Birdie?" Emmett asks as soon as he hears my voice. "Did you see my text? I wrote to tell you that Edward Cul—"

"I got it, Emmett," I manage to grind out. "Jesus."

"Oh, come on, Birdie," Emmett's voice takes on a singsong quality. "Are you pissy? Don't be. He asked about you. Said to tell you hello…."

"Hello!" My free hand loses its grip on the steering wheel and curls into a fist in my lap. "Are you fucking kidding me, Emmett? HELLO?"

Emmett sighs heavily through the phone, and I can envision him rubbing his jaw sheepishly the way he always does when he knows he's in trouble. "Bella, come on. It's not like that. He's changed. Seems like he's in a good place."

"I can't do this right now," I hiss. "I'm on my way to school, and then work. And after that, Emmett, I'm heading home to eat dinner with my daughter. You know, my daughter? The same sweet little girl that Edward Cullen has wanted nothing to do with from the start?" My voice gets louder and louder as I unleash six years' worth of pent up emotions on my brother.

"I know," my brother says with a sigh. "I just—"

Exasperated, I interrupt him before he can make his point. "That's just it, Emmett, you do know. You've been there every moment of Ava's life. You stepped up when he didn't, which is why a fucking 'hello' from him doesn't mean shit to me." I glance briefly at the clock on the dashboard and let out a pained groan. This unpleasant trip down memory lane has stolen ten minutes from my life and has guaranteed that I'll be late to my first class.

"You're right," Emmett concedes. "We'll talk tonight, Birdie, alright? Don't sweat it."

On the drive to school I feel torn between irritation with my brother for having mentioned his visitor, and guilt for being the reason that Emmett's relationship with Edward, his former best friend, has become nothing more than an occasional run-in.

.

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><p>.<p>

Edward spends so much time at our house the summer before he and Emmett are due to leave for college that he might as well live here. It never occurs to me to ask him what his parents think of his obvious absence. I just assume that they must be okay with him sleeping on the couch in Emmett's room, eating the food that my mom continually forces on us, and showering in the bathroom that my brother and I share.

He leaves his baseball caps—all faded and worn, the bills curled in so much the sides almost touch—on the counter, and his toothbrush sits next to mine. One day, just before I stripped down to step in the shower, I pulled one of his caps down low over my eyes, just like he wears it, and stared at myself in the mirror. I instantly felt like a weirdo, and snatched it off my head. I set it back in the exact spot he'd left it, hoping he'd never notice.

I ponder my…obsession-for lack of a better word-with him on a near daily basis. He's done nothing to warrant such adoration from me, aside from being heartbreakingly beautiful. He rarely pays me any attention at all, unless it's to join in when Emmett's teasing me, which is often. I hate that he thinks of me as a kid—Emmett's little sister—so I spend each morning blow-drying my hair and putting on makeup to cover my freckles and sun-pinked cheeks, in a feeble attempt to look older and more mature like the girls that Emmett and Edward invite over. Their occasional visitors are a source of stress for my dad, and he gripes to Emmett every night at dinner to "tell 'em to put some damn clothes on," but nothing ever changes. On the contrary, in fact. I think Lauren Mallory's bikini gets a little smaller with each visit.

After checking my reflection once more in the fogged mirror, I open the bathroom door and step out into the hallway. Steam from my shower billows out around me, and once it clears I'm shocked to see Edward leaning against the banister across from me. While I did manage to put my makeup on and make sense of the mass of curls that adorn my head, I'm painfully aware that I'm wearing the same knee-length cutoffs that I wore the summer I turned twelve and one of Emmett's giant, old baseball t-shirts.

Edward's eyes roam over me lazily, and he snorts through his nose. "You look so much better without all that shit on your face," he tells me.

I turn ten shades of red, I'm sure of it, and stammer out an unintelligible string of syllables that are meant to sound like a defensive response.

He smirks at me and slowly pushes himself off the banister to walk closer to where I'm standing. So close, in fact, that I can see the blond in his eyelashes. He smells delicious, like sunscreen and syrup, and it makes me woozy. My palms are sweaty as he stands before me, looking down at me and studying me closely. When he slowly lifts his hand to my face, I'm worried I might pass out. I'm a mess of internal worry as his hand looms closer, wondering if he's going to stroke me, caress me, hug me….

His thumb makes a firm sweep from the bridge of my nose, across my cheek, to the outside corner of my eye.

He pulls it away from my face and holds it up for me to see. I'm mortified to see that his thumb is caked with makeup, and even further embarrassed when he smirks at me and says, "See? Much better."

My body is incapable of moving, so only my eyes follow his retreat into the bathroom. I wince slightly when he closes the door firmly behind him, and then I turn and make a beeline towards my parents' bathroom to wash my face.

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><p>.<p>

I can't seem to snap out of the funk that hearing Edward is back in town has put me in. My school day proves worthless—my mind is too preoccupied with wondering why he's back. What's his goal? Why's he here? I mix up two orders at work and finally decide that my shift can't end fast enough. By the time I pull into the driveway of the little house that Ava and I share with Emmett, I'm nearly sick with worry.

Edward's arrival in town isn't all that mysterious, I reckon with myself. His mom and dad still live here, after all, and last I heard his sister has moved back, too. After some thought, I finally decide that it's his visit to Emmett's office that has me sweating the unknown. What could have potentially been an innocent attempt at playing catch- up with an old friend, carries much more weight since he impregnated that old friend's sister a handful of years ago, and decided he'd rather not play dad to their little girl.

After parking the car, I lean my head back heavily against the headrest in a futile attempt to compose myself before walking inside to greet Ava. She deserves nothing but the best from me, and I refuse to let her see me so obviously riddled with anxiety and fear. I'm certain I look a mess, a suspicion that is confirmed when I tug harshly at the rearview mirror and bring it down to my level. My eyes are red and swollen and I think I've aged another ten years just today. Smoothing my hair back from my face and wiping away the smeared mascara from under my eyes, I decide I look presentable enough and instead switch my focus to preparing myself mentally.

What will I say if Ava notices my less-than-perky mood? How will I answer her if she asks me what's wrong? She knows little more about Edward than the fact that he's not around, and I'm overcome with the realization that I'm just not ready to shatter her perfectly crafted bubble by letting pieces of information about him seep in.

Pushing open the front door, I'm greeted with a rush of cool air that brings with it the smell of the dinner Emmett's cooking, along with the natural smell of our house. Our home. The thought is enough to bring me to my knees. We've worked so hard for this, Em and I, and although times have been nothing but tough for the past six years, there was never a single moment when I questioned whether it was worth it.

"Mama!" Ava comes tearing around the corner and hugs my waist tightly. I put on my best smile for her and hug her back tighter. After a day like today, I'm more appreciative of the weight of her warm body pressed against my legs than ever before.

"My bug," I say. "How was your day?"

She simply shrugs, not one to ever elaborate about her school day. "Come see what we made you for supper!"

Her tiny hand tugs at mine, and instantly I feel the weight of my day roll off me in waves. I'm comforted by her presence, her touch. I follow her into the kitchen, where I find my brother standing at the stove, wearing my favorite red gingham & lace apron and stirring the mixings of something suspicious.

All day I've thought and thought about the past, the present, the future, and as I watch Emmett at the stove, I'm blindsided with pride and gratitude for everything he's done for Ava and me. After making my way over to the stove, I stop beside him and rest my head against his arm.

"Sloppy Joes for you, Birdie," he says and kisses the top of my head.

I wrinkle my nose in faux disgust. They're my favorite.

Ava tells me a little about her day while we set the table, and Emmett fills our plates high with slopped meat. Eventually, the three of us sit down to eat, like most nights, but after such a long day, today feels different. I can't help but stare back and forth between the two of them in adoration.

We're in the process of dissecting Ava's day when the phone in the kitchen rings shrilly.

Our parents are the only people to ever use our home phone number, so I internally roll my eyes at their bad timing and hop up quickly. The old wall-mounted phone rattles as it rings loudly once more, and I snatch it up fast, wrapping the twisted cord around my fist in habit.

"Hey…" I pause briefly to allow my mom or dad a chance to relay whatever message they've deemed important enough to interrupt our Sloppy Joe dinner.

"Bella? Um…Hi? It's me. Edward."

I pull in a sharp breath and stagger back from the receiver as though I've been burned. Outwardly, I'm all shaky hands and dropped breaths, but inside, my thoughts are flittering so fast that they're morphing into one long, low, buzzing sound.

Finally, after too much time has passed, I bring the receiver back to my ear and draw in a deep breath.

"How did you get this number?" I try to sound assertive, but it just comes out raspy and weak.

"Um…well…from Emmett, actually. I hope that's okay…I stopped by his office today and—"

"Fucking Emmett." I seethe.

"Huh?" He sounds confused.

"Did you need something, Edward? Did you want to speak to Emmett?" I'm nice. Too nice. I'm hoping to literally kill him with kindness.

"Uh…no. No, that won't be necessary. I was actually calling to speak with you, Bella." It's not lost on me that his voice wavers, and he sounds uncertain.

"Oh."

"I just—I just….well, I…." He's fumbling and stuttering all over the place, and suddenly my shock and anger turns to pure irritation.

"Look, Edward," I say. "We're in the middle of supper right now. I've got to run."

"Is there a better time to call?"

I let out a slow breath I didn't even realize I was holding. "I don't know. No…not really…."

"I'd really like to speak with you, Bel—"

"I've got to go, Edward. See you later." I gently place the phone back in its cradle and lean my back against the wall. My mind is such a vast array of what-the-fucks that I can hardly form a single clear thought.

After trudging slowly back to the dining room, I round the corner to see Ava and Emmett eating peacefully at the table, completely unaware of the shift my life…our life…has taken today.

Emmett leans back in his chair and rubs his stupid stomach. "Everything okay, Birdie?"

I gather every ounce of negative energy I have in me and throw it all his way in the form of a vicious scowl.

Fucking Emmett.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Grateful, as always, for Tiffanyanne3.**

**Chapter 4**

**-0-0-0-**

I spend the last part of the evening doing my best to ignore Emmett as we work side by side to clean up the kitchen. He's tried to broach the subject of Edward's phone call, but my fiercest bitch face shuts him right up.

I somehow manage to sing and giggle my way through Ava's bath, and even my annoyance with my brother can't stop me from pulling out the silly voices during book time, per Ava's request. But as soon as her breathing evens out and her soft snores grow stronger, I tuck her blankets under her chin and leave her room in search of Emmett, who has more than a little explaining to do.

When I enter the living room, Emmett is sheepishly tucked into the corner of our fabric couch, looking like a scolded puppy. He's changed out of his work clothes and into a pair of basketball shorts and an old, faded t-shirt. He looks boyish, hardly more than a teenager, and I'm momentarily grateful for the reminder that he is young. Sometimes I need to be reminded of all that he's given up for Ava and me. But still, I fight an inner war with myself as I stand before him. His giving Edward our phone number without so much as warning me that he might call is completely inexcusable. Devoted brother or not, I want to wring his helpful neck.

Before I get the chance to do much more than glare at him, I hear the click click click of heeled shoes passing through the kitchen and into the living room. "Ugh, I hate heels," Rosalie gripes as she ungracefully hops on one foot while removing a sharp stiletto from the other. After tossing her shoes, she makes her way toward my brother's slumped form on the couch, pausing quickly on her way to squeeze my hip and kiss my cheek. "Birdie," she says by way of greeting. My eyes follow her retreating form—her perfectly coiffed hair, stylish clothes, flawless body—as she folds herself into Emmett's side and sighs heavily.

Rosalie Hale is a part of our family in all the ways that matter most. Despite her perfectly made-up outward appearance and no-nonsense approach to life, she is sweet, genuine, fiercely loyal, and my very best friend. She's been dating Emmett for years and has never been anything but supportive of his role in Ava's and my life. Rosalie loves Ava like she is her own, and she primps and spoils her in all the girly ways that I am—quite literally—incapable of. My brother knows he is a lucky fool, and he treats her with a kindness and vulnerability that he retains for no one else. Watching them together makes my heart hurt.

I stand before them, like an outsider in my own living room, and watch with a mix of envy and admiration as Emmett tucks her close into his side and kisses her hair.

"Sorry I missed the Bug," Rosalie tells me as she rests her head on Emmett's chest. "I had a late meeting, and then traffic was awful. Emmett wanted me to hurry over, so I haven't even been home yet."

Fucking Emmett, using Rosalie as his shield. I narrow my eyes and glare at him.

Rosalie looks warily back and forth between the two of us, and then groans and lifts her head off Emmett's shoulder to rest it on the back of the couch, eyes closed. "What happened?" she asks warily.

I suddenly feel like an idiot standing in the middle of the living room, and the weight of re-telling the day's events to Rosalie is physically debilitating.

"Ask Emmett," I tell her as I move to sit catty-corner from them on the couch. "He seems to have all the answers these days…"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bella," Emmett groans. "It's not the end of the world! So he came in looking for you. So what? I told him how to find you—"

"Wait," Rosalie's eyes open, and she lifts her head to look at me directly. "Who came looking for you?"

With my best friend sitting across from me, watching me with concern, I unexpectedly have the overwhelming urge to cry. The harder I resist the impulse to give in to my tears, the harder my chin trembles.

"Edward Cullen," I whisper, my voice breaking on his last name.

Aside from the deep sigh Emmett emits and the sounds of my desperate attempt to clamp down the sobs that are so eager to escape my chest, the room is completely silent.

Rosalie abruptly springs from her spot next to Emmett on the couch and rushes to sit next to me, gathering me in her arms. I bury my head in her shoulder and inhale her comforting scent while she rubs my back.

"What did he want?" Rosalie asks softly. I'm not sure if she's directing her question at me or Emmett, but I focus my attention on my brother when he speaks.

"He said he was back in town, and he wanted to see how we were doing. His mom knows I work at the bank—I see her in there occasionally—so I'm guessing she told him where he could find me. He wanted to know where Bella lives, what she's been up to… I didn't know what to say, Birdie!" Emmett drops his head into his hands and tugs harshly at his hair. When he lifts his head, his stressed eyes meet mine, and my chest aches with the sadness I see reflected there.

"Did he ask about Ava?" I whisper, afraid to hear his answer. Either response seems awful: he's suddenly interested in her after all this time-leading me to worry about his intentions-or he doesn't even acknowledge her enough to inquire.

Emmett shakes his head sadly, "Fuck, Bella, I don't know. I—I was torn between beating his face in for ditching you guys, and hugging his neck! He's a sorry bastard for what he did, and he knows it. He said so himself." Emmett scrubs at the rough stubble on his jaw and drops his eyes to the floor. "Can't you at least hear him out? Let him say his piece?"

Rosalie continues to rub soothing circles on the sensitive spot between my shoulder blades while I stare at my brother in contemplation. Can I listen to Edward's excuses? Do I even care to hear what he has to say? Part of me wants to give him the proverbial middle finger and let him know that Ava and I have gotten along just fine by ourselves—well, with Emmett and Rosalie, too—without one single ounce of help from him. But the young, long-ago-buried teenager inside me longs to see him, to hear his voice again. His face is a hazy memory to me after all these years, save for the traces of him I see in Ava. My remembrances of him have twisted and turned over time, casting him in some type of flawless, teenage idol light.

* * *

><p>Edward's comment about my makeup seemed to spark some type of bizarre fuse between the two of us moving forward. He knows the effect he has on me is strong, and I think I'm either too naive or too dumb to care that he plays it up. Inside the comfort of my bedroom walls, I feel smart and capable and every bit the normal teenage girl that I am. But outside, when Edward is here, I become a bumbling mess of nerves and insecurities.<p>

Day after day Edward finds a way to tease me, and day after day I trip over my words and retreat to my room in mortification at the way my skin flushes scarlet when he's near. I'm not quite sure what Emmett thinks about the attention that Edward gives me, except to assume that he's just along for the ride on the pesky older brother trip Emmett is on. My brother is too wrapped up in baseball, girls, and himself to ever really pay close attention to what I'm doing…unless it's to embarrass or nag me, of course.

I'm standing in the kitchen smearing butter on a piece of toasted bread when I hear Emmett belch loudly to announce his arrival. The refrigerator door opens, and I listen without looking as he grabs the milk carton and drinks directly from it as loudly as possible, before slamming the fridge door and belching again. Pig.

"Put some fucking pants on, Birdie," he goads me. "Your flamingo legs are making my eyes bleed."

The name Birdie has haunted me since I was seven, and our Great Aunt Louise visited from Florida one summer. She kissed me directly on the mouth, pinched my thigh, and told my mother to feed me, because my bird legs needed more meat. It's in keeping with the rest of my miserable life that my brother was nearby and heard the exchange. I've yet to live it down.

Licking some misplaced butter off my finger, I glance down at what I'm wearing. "They're shorts, Fuckface."

"Shorts my ass. You're wearing panties and trying to pass them off as shorts. Those are, like…shorties." He pauses briefly to allow himself a victory guffaw. "Get it?"

I finally spare him a glance over my shoulder and notice that Edward is leaning next to him against the kitchen island, smirking. I roll my eyes at my brother and turn back to my toast. "You're an idiot," I remind him.

Emmett's still mentally high-fiving himself as he pulls open the door to the pantry and begins rifling through everything like a toddler. The air around me stirs, and Edward's scent overrides the smell of the toast on the counter opposite me. He props his body next to me on one elbow, angled just perfectly so that he's able to look up at me from under the curtain of hair I'm hiding behind.

"Hi," he whispers. I've met my quota for blushing already, and it's not even noon.

As usual, I seem incapable of forming a complete sentence when he's near, so I merely let forth a shaky snort, and follow it up with several dozen of those rapid blink things I do when I get nervous.

To my horror—or amazement, I'm not really sure—he leans in even closer and ducks his head so that our eyes meet. His are clear and bright, and his eyelashes are long and full. Not knowing what to do in such close proximity to him, I find myself literally squirming under his penetrating gaze. My awkwardness seems to spur him on, and he chuckles once and then sort of shakes his head, like he has no idea what to do with me.

I wait with bated breath as he continues to stare, still smiling and shaking his head slowly. A bead of sweat runs down the front of my shirt, between my virtually nonexistent boobs, and it's then that I realize that I've forgotten to breathe since he last spoke.

Never breaking our stare, he reaches out to grab a triangle of toast and takes a giant bite from one side. His lips pucker as he chews, and the way his jaw muscle works to grind his food makes me swallow thickly.

The sound of Emmett tearing into a bag of chips behind me breaks me out of my daze, and I draw in a deep breath in an attempt to regain my composure. Edward continues to look at me, his eyes alight with amusement on my behalf.

"Dude," Emmett barks at him. "Let's go."

Edward straightens up and walks backwards a few steps, the sneaky smile on his face the only sign of our recent wordless conversation. Eventually, when he nears the section of the kitchen where my brother is standing, he wiggles his eyebrows at me a few times as a parting gesture.

I smile shyly at him and duck my head to turn back to my toast. I'm wondering what it will be like to eat from the same corner that his lips have touched, when Emmett's obnoxiously loud voice breaks my focus again.

"Seriously, Birdie. Go put some fucking pants on."

* * *

><p>I'm so comforted by the feel of Rosalie's arms wrapped around me that I almost forget about how painfully long this day has been. I know once I'm in the privacy of my own room, nestled deep in my own bed, all of the raw emotions and memories will come bubbling to the surface, but for now, I find comfort in my friend and my brother. He lost his best friend when Edward bailed, I remind myself. And while Edward doesn't deserve a friend like Emmett, I want nothing more than for my brother to be happy.<p>

I'll just see what he wants, I bargain with myself internally. I don't have to give him one bit of information about myself or Ava…especially Ava…but I owe it to Emmett, and to myself, to hear him out. Maybe a little closure is exactly what I need to put him behind me once and for all.

"Alright, Emmett," I say. "Tell him I'm all ears."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**-0-0-0-**

My grandfather Swan left my parents his Airstream trailer when he died, and they've taken up camping like it is essential, second only to air. They're always excitedly scoping out new potential campgrounds, and my mother now spends her every free moment bidding on vintage Airstream memorabilia on E-bay. Their new hobby has aged them in my eyes, by several decades, and suddenly they're like that sweet old couple that you smile kindly at and pat forlornly on the head. I fully expect my dad to start wearing socks with his Velcro sandals any day now.

Worse yet, they're forever trying to get Emmett and me to go camping with them. Lucky for us, their excitement with their newfound hobby overshadows our disinterest and they don't seem to care at all that we're continuously looking for excuses to weasel our way out of camping with them.

This weekend is no different. Our parents are off in the Hill Country, doing whatever it is old people in aluminum trailers do, and I'm at home alone with strict instructions to "look after Emmett," and to call them immediately if he, "gets into any trouble." So far, it's been delightfully quiet, but then it's only Friday and our parents just left a few hours ago.

I've invited my friend Angela over to swim, but her parents seem super strict and they're not fond of her being here alone in the house without anybody but my brother to act as guardian. The thought of Emmett being responsible for, well…anything, makes me laugh.

Resigned to a night alone, I've just made myself comfortable on our couch in the den with my favorite book, when I hear the humming of the garage door indicating that Emmett is home. I've got one leg hooked over the back cushion, the other tucked up underneath me, and I'm entirely too caught up in my book to pay him any attention. Unwilling to tear my eyes from the pages, the slapping of Emmett's keys as he throws them down on the countertop scarcely registers in the back of mind. It's the accompanying peel of female laughter that brings my peaceful moment to a needle-skipping halt.

Before I can even address whoever my brother has brought home, the den is filled with the sickeningly sweet smell of too much floral perfume and the infectious sound of Emmett's booming laugh.

"Hi, little Birdie," Emmett says, pushing my foot off the back of the couch as he walks by. My leg bounces as it slaps the couch cushion, which causes my book to snap shut against my chest.

My annoyance at being interrupted is obvious as I sit up and dog-ear my novel, tucking my knees underneath me. I find myself face to face with not one, but two of Emmett's lackeys.

Kate and Lauren stand side by side like a pair of clichéd twins. They're both in shorts so short that the pockets hang out below their frayed hems. They're completely identical from their pierced belly buttons down to their cheap wedged heels, except that-and I smirk as I realize- Kate's legs are streaked with orange tanning lotion. My eyes flitter up to their overly made-up faces and I give them each my most innocent fake smile.

Lauren stops snapping her gum long enough to address me. "Hi, Birdie," she giggle-says.

"It's Bella," I remind her. "Hi."

I flush immediately—it can't be helped—when Edward strolls into the room and leans causally against the couch at Lauren's side. At my blush, a lazy smirk slinks across his face. Aside from that small sign of life, he's every bit the picture of boredom. Pure, bored perfection. It's that fucking baseball cap, I decide, staring at him a beat too long. Its slightly curled bill shadows his eyes, making his sharp nose and jaw more apparent than usual. The tips of his longish hair curl out and over the sides, and-it embarrasses me to realize-I'd give anything to touch it.

As usual, Emmett interrupts my private thought process by loudly announcing that I'd better "scoot my ass over," because they're about to watch a movie.

Oblivious to my horrification, Kate plops down beside me on the middle couch cushion, and Emmett sits down next to her on the end opposite mine. We're like three incestuous peas in a pod. To make matters worse, Edward and Lauren cozy up on the loveseat across from us.

So much for peaceful reading time.

Emmett points the remote at the screen and immediately the opening scene of the movie begins. As usual, he has the volume cranked up disturbingly loud.

"Get the lights, Birdie," he commands me. If I weren't so relieved at the opportunity to extricate myself from the third wheel situation on the couch, I'd probably smack him in his stupid head and tell him to get the fucking lights himself. Instead, I dutifully shut them off, then settle more comfortably on the floor near my brother's feet.

I know I'm in trouble when I hear Kate start giggling softly from her spot on the couch to my right. It's when Emmett starts whispering to her that I truly think I might get sick. I cough loudly several times as not-so-gentle reminder to Emmett that his little sister is in the room, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care, and the giggling continues.

Keeping my eyes trained on the movie, I let my mind wander to the loveseat, and to the sounds drifting from its direction. If Emmett and Kate are up to no good, do I even want to know what Edward and Lauren are doing? No, I decide, I don't. But before I can even restrain myself, I'm turning my head slowly in their direction, hoping that the darkness of the room will hide my curious eyes. My stomach clenches harshly at the realization that they're not actually watching the movie at all. Instead, Edward has turned his hat backwards, and he has his lips…his entire face…pressed tightly against Lauren's. My breath hitches and my eyes blink swiftly as I watch him lean over her, one hand high up on her thigh while the other runs smoothly under her shirt.

The previous repulsion I felt at the sight of my over-eager brother is swiftly replaced by a feeling of desperate sorrow at the sight of Edward wrapped around this stupid girl. Fake and dumb…she's the epitome of everything I abhor. What can he possibly see in her?

My eyes swim with tears and I work quickly to blink them away. Turning my face up to the movie once more, I plot my escape out of this room, away from these people. The smack smack smack of Lauren's lip-gloss as it sticks and pulls against Edward's lips taunts me and I cross and uncross my legs awkwardly, looking for the least obvious method of standing and escaping. Like some sick masochist, I can't help but look back once more while I clamber to my feet, inching my way out of the room. This time, although his lips are still lapping and pulling at hers, his hand still smoothly caressing her inner thigh, Edward's eyes are locked on me. Dark, hooded, they strip away my composure and leave me breathless and confused as I scamper from the room.

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

My brother is consistently inconsistent, which is why, when I give Emmett the go-ahead to tell Edward that it's okay to call me, I shouldn't be the least bit surprised to receive an email from him several days later instead.

**From: Edward Cullen eacullen **

**To: Bella Swan bellas4606 **

**Subject: Catching up?**

**Bella,**

**I'm sorry if I caught you off guard with my phone call last week. I asked Emmett for your email…thought maybe it'd be easier this way? **

**Maybe I'm presumptuous in asking, but would you be willing to meet me for coffee? I'd really like to catch up, talk things out…**

**Hope to hear from you soon,**

**Edward**

I read and then reread his email numerous times. I knew he wanted to talk; Emmett had the decency to prepare me for that much at least. However, I still can't help but feel…irked, by the offhand way he references our history, like we're just two old pals, shooting the shit. Ava, my daughter…our daughter, can't be summed up over coffee. On the other hand, there's no way I'm letting him near our home, and I'm certainly not going to his, so I guess coffee will have to do.

**From: Bella Swan bellas4606 **

**To: Edward Cullen eacullen **

**Subject: Re: Catching up?**

**Edward,**

**I'm willing to meet over coffee. My days are packed, but I have a short break this Friday around 10:30. Does that work for you? There's a coffee shop at the corner of Main and Glade...**

**Bella**

As soon as I hit "send" my stomach is in knots and I'm immediately regretful. Just the thought of him and the incomplete hold he has over Ava's life makes my stomach churn and my eyes swim. How on earth can I expect to sit across from this man, and pretend as though everything is okay? He played a game with me all those years ago, using me up and throwing me away. He never cared, never even pretended that he did. What, if anything, can he possibly say to undo all the damage he's done, all the pain he's inflicted on me? On us.

I'm contemplating retracting my earlier acceptance when my email pings with a notification of new mail. Well, shit.

**From: Edward Cullen eacullen **

**To: Bella Swan bellas4606 **

**Subject: Friday it is…**

**I wouldn't miss it. See you at 10:30.**

**Edward**

**p.s. Your email address has me stumped. What's 4606? **

And just like that, he's done it. I haven't even seen him face to face, merely a short, exasperated phone call and a series of clipped emails, and he's managed to take six years' worth of self-growth and healing and completely undo it all. Once again I'm simply a naïve girl placing her world at the feet of a selfish boy.

It's with shaky hands and a heavy heart that I compose my final email. I take a deep breath, hold my head high, and give words to my source of joy for the past six years.

**From: Bella Swan bellas4606 **

**To: Edward Cullen eacullen **

**Subject: Re: Friday it is...**

**4/6/06. My daughter's birthday.**

**Bella**

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to my wonderful beta, Tiffanyanne3.**

**Chapter 6**

**-0-0-0-**

If there is one thing I learned that night, watching Edward with Lauren, it's that Edward Cullen is way out of my league. These girls he brings around are his field, he's the star player, and something tells me he's quite good at this game. If I venture to find a place for myself in this twisted analogy, I guess I'm the fumbling bat girl. Except that I've never touched a bat, and I've never even stepped foot on the field.

I make a great effort to avoid Edward in the week that follows the Movie Night From Hell. The longer I avoid him, the stronger my infatuation with him becomes. I'm equal parts intrigued and terrified of everything he does. He's alarmingly confident, and it rolls off of him in waves. I catch myself fantasizing about his lazy smirk or the way he sits low in his chair with his legs spread wide. His cocky swagger when he walks or the way he pulls his hat up and down to scratch his head. Everything about him seems to tug at something deep and low in my belly. I'm well aware that he gained his confidence and sex appeal somewhere, from some_one_, and the little voice inside my head reminds me often that it certainly wasn't with me.

When I force myself to admit it, I'm actually quite irritated that I find him so appealing. He's none of the things I'd find attractive on paper. He's not especially respectful of girls, and he's so brutally honest it's often offensive. I've never even seen him touch a book, much less do anything the least bit intellectual (unless you count rating girls on a scale from one to ten with Emmett).

On an errand for my mother, I walk to the grocery store near our house to pick up a few things she needs. I'm standing too close to the drink cooler, pretending to look at labels so I can cool down and dry my sweat, when I hear the slow, heavy footsteps of someone rounding the corner. I know it's him before I even turn around; I can smell his smell and feel his heat. My body hums in contentment when I turn and prove myself right. He stands behind me, fists tucked deep in the pockets of his khaki shorts, lazy grin pulling at the corners of his lips. My stomach pulls harshly at the realization that he's wearing my favorite ratty baseball hat. Backwards.

"Whatcha doin' there?" He rubs his hand across his mouth like he's hiding a bigger smile.

I flush, embarrassed to be caught. "Just cooling off a bit."

Stepping back from the cooler, I force myself to fully turn and face him. He's tall, even in his cocky, slouched position. My head hits just below his chin, and when I lift my eyes, I notice that I can see the underside of his thick lashes perfectly. They're dark at the roots and blond on the tips, and they're so long they curl and tangle together whenever he smiles.

Which he's doing now.

Shrugging self-consciously, I stare at the laces on my worn shoes. "What?"

He chuckles lowly and takes a half step forward to nudge my shoulder with his. "Why so shy, Birdie?"

The impact jars me from my shyness, and I look up briefly to catch his smirk. Sighing in exasperation, I square my shoulders and lift my chin. "I'm not shy," I snap, my attempt at confidence making me sound sharper than I'd intended.

"No?"

Mustering up more pretend courage, I manage to look him straight in the eye. "No."

He stares at me curiously for a few seconds, like he's trying hard to figure out what I'm all about. What _am_ I all about? I have no fucking clue. I feel like a baby, playing house in a grown–up world, yet I'm the first to take offense when adults handle me with kid gloves. I'm a mess.

"Walk you home?" He nods his head towards the door. The entire list of things I came to purchase no longer seems important, and I wipe my sweaty hands on my jean cutoffs and shrug in a desperate attempt at nonchalance.

"Sure."

We head outside the store together, him in the lead. He pushes the door open for me and holds it there with his arm out straight, forcing me to duck my head beneath him and brush against his chest as I pass through.

_Fine by me._

Once we're outside he pulls his baseball cap around and low over his sun-squinted eyes. "Did you ride your bike?"

I'm quick to take offense. He must think I'm a fucking toddler…

"I can't drive yet," I remind him. "In case you hadn't noticed."

"Right," he chuckles and nudges my elbow with his. "But there's this thing called walking…in case _you_ hadn't noticed."

_Okay, fine. Point to him_.

We continue on in awkward silence for a bit, but I feel his gaze burning hot on the side of my face.

"What'd you come to the store for?" I ask him when I can't stand the silence—or the staring—any longer. His hands are empty, save for the package of gum he flips idly between two fingers.

"My sister dropped me off on her way to work. I'm meeting Em at your place, but Leah didn't want to drive all the way out there."

"Can't you drive?" I blurt rudely. Immediately, I kick myself for my lack of filter. It's becoming more and more obvious that I have no idea how this—this task of interacting with members of the opposite sex—is done.

"I can, yes." He pauses. "I just don't."

I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. Why wouldn't he drive if he could? It's hot as hell here, and getting around on foot—or bike—sucks. Trust me, I know.

"Why didn't you have Emmett drive you to the store?" he asks me curiously.

"And put up with his bullshit for an entire ten minutes?" I cluck my tongue in disgust. "No, thanks."

My answer makes him snort, and I'm alarmed at the level of adorable he's reached with that one, singular action.

"He's not so bad." Edward says this as though his defense of Emmett is going to erase the nearly sixteen years of teasing I've endured at the hands of my idiot brother.

"Yeah, to _you_. His entire purpose in life is to harass me."

"You let him."

I guffaw loudly. "I do not _let him_. He's just surprisingly...clever. For such a giant dumbass."

"It's cute," he says with a smirk. "_You're_ cute." He glances at me briefly and chuckles when he notices the blush climbing up my neck and onto my cheeks. Lifting his hand, he rubs his knuckles softly on the side of my neck. "See what I mean?"

I shrug. "Whatever you say."

* * *

><p>I'm a nervous wreck in the days leading up to my coffee meeting with Edward. I've completely put a stop to all thoughts along the lines of <em>I really need a haircut <em>or _I should buy a new shirt_. I'm determined not to let myself try to impress Edward Cullen. Been there, done that. I'm not a little girl anymore, and I refuse to think—to _care—_what Edward thinks of me.

I agreed to this meeting for one reason only, I remind myself time and time again: to hear whatever it is that Edward seems so insistent on talking to me about. Okay, yeah, maybe there's a _small _part of me that is proud of how much I've accomplished—no thanks to him—and wants him to see first-hand that I didn't need his help to achieve one bit of it along the way (minus the whole sperm thing).

Friday is especially difficult. I'm completely disgusted with myself and how long I've taken to get ready for this impending coffee meet up. I spent an additional thirty minutes on my hair this morning, only to berate myself for my stupidity, and eventually pull it back in a ponytail in a futile attempt at "being myself."

My indecisiveness made for a rushed morning, and I'm almost late getting Ava to school. We're never late. I loathe tardiness and find it completely inexcusable, and I blame Edward Cullen entirely for my flustered behavior this morning. Damn him for completely upending my week with a few stupid emails and one phone call. Two weeks ago, I would have laughed at the girl who let herself get this worked up over some pretty boy. Or man. Whatever.

When I kiss Ava good-bye at her classroom door, I notice that I've completely failed to wipe her face off, and she's still wearing the remains of her breakfast. What the hell is _wrong _with me today? I give her a spit bath and she whines and moans her way into her room.

I'm thankful to have the day free of classes, and instead spend my morning running as many errands as I possibly can before I'm due to meet Edward at 10:30. My phone rings just as I'm pulling out of the post-office parking lot, headed towards my date with doom.

"Hi, Rosie."

"_Hey, babe. You ready?"_

"I think so...I hope so...Yes."

She laughs sweetly and tells me to be strong, stay confident, be me.

"That's what I'm afraid of," I tell her.

"_Just hear him out. That's all you owe him, Birdie."_ She's right, and I tell her so.

"I'll call you when it's over."

"_Love you."_

"Love you more."

I spend the remainder of my drive and a few additional minutes outside the coffee shop wishing ill on Edward Cullen. I hope he's fat and bald and pot faced. I hope his appearance has zero effect on me, and that time has killed his confidence _and_ his swagger. I remind myself that I'm only here to listen and I don't owe him anything. I think of Ava, Emmett, and Rosalie, and I'm filled anew with peace and conviction. I can do this. I _can_ do this.

Checking my appearance in the review mirror, I'm met with wide, scared eyes, and an overly pale face. Shit.

Ten deep breaths and here goes nothing.

-0-0-0-

I haven't even had a chance to pull my sunglasses off yet when I spot him. Truth be told, I actually _sense _him first, just like I used to. I allow myself a few seconds behind the security of my shades to gather my composure. He's standing just to the inside right of the door, leaning slightly against a high top table. His slightly unsure posture completely contradicts his attire: hands stuffed in the pockets of a dark suit, perfectly tailored to fit his—if I'm being honest—perfect frame. He's still tall, obviously, but even under his suit it's apparent his body is lean and hard.

Slowly pulling my sunglasses from my eyes, I tuck them in the outside pocket of the bag draped across my hip and turn to make my way towards him. My feet feel like lead weights, and I'm pretty sure my armpits haven't sweated this much since the last time Rosalie made me attend her yoga class.

Edward stands up straight and grins hugely when our eyes meet. I feel like I've just been hit in the fucking chest and all the breath has been sucked from my lungs. He's still beautiful, impossibly so, but it's the shock of how much his smile resembles Ava's that stuns me into stillness. It takes a physical effort on my part to coax my feet into moving forward so that I'm standing in front of him.

"Birdie," he whispers through his smile. Up close, I see that his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, and his face is neither fat nor pot marked.

_Dammit._

Unable to force a greeting out, I simply stare at him. I'm certain my scrutiny is past the point of socially acceptable, but it can't be helped. I'm in complete awe of how much more his daughter resembles him than I ever gave my recollections permission to allow.

Without the baseball cap that stars in my memories, I'm somewhat surprised to see that his hair is a most unusual shade of auburn, just like Ava's. As if he knows my thoughts, he runs his hand through it uncomfortably.

It's obvious he doesn't really know how to greet me, and I'm certainly not making things easier with my arms-crossed-over-chest stance. Let him squirm, I decide.

I smile tightly and nod my head briefly. "Edward."

He visibly relaxes once I've acknowledged him verbally, and he tilts his head toward the back of the shop. "You wanna sit?"

I say nothing but turn softly and walk toward an empty booth in the back. He follows silently behind me and pauses outside the booth to undo the remaining buttons on his suit jacket and shrug it off. While I drop my bag into the seat and slide in, he folds his jacket neatly and places it on the bench as if it were a delicate child.

I almost snicker at the irony.

Once he's settled in his seat, he rests his elbows on the table and leans his body towards me like we're old friends. Which we certainly are _not_, I remind myself.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head, almost as if in disbelief. "It's so, _so_ good to see you," he says.

I smile politely.

I hate that I notice the way his sharp jaw meets the soft base of his ear, and how his eyelashes still tangle at the corners. I hate that he's still beautiful, maybe even more than when he was younger. I hate that I see so much of my Ava in him. How can I _not _find beauty in that?

He shifts uncomfortably at my silence and nods his head in the direction of the counter. "You want a coffee?"

"Yes, please," I say. "Cream, no sugar."

Nodding quickly, he stands and makes his way to the ordering station. I watch him go, unable to breathe, much less tear my eyes away from him.

_Yep. Still with the fucking swagger._

I've just finished the last leg of my mental pep talk when he returns, coffee in hand. I thank him politely as he resumes his position across from me.

It's comforting for me to hide my face behind the large rim of my coffee cup, so I gulp it down vigorously, eying Edward all the while. I'm still somewhat unable to wrap my head around the fact that he's actually sitting here across from me after all this time, looking an incredible amount like my daughter. _Our _daughter.

"How've you been?" His question is genuine, I can tell by the way his eyebrows scrunch together in the middle, but I can't help but snort quietly. What a ridiculously blasé question.

_How've I been?_

Rather than unload on him, I simply answer in yet another one-word monosyllable. "Good."

He looks me over closely as he thinks my answer through. "Yeah?"

"Yep."

"Emmett said you two live together." He pauses to chuckle quietly. "He still torturing you?"

I debate halting the niceties to correct him that our _two_ is actually _three_ but decide to let it slide. "Not so much anymore." I smirk. "I can hold my own now."

His head snaps up at my comment and he eyes me curiously, like my words had a double meaning, one of which was meant for him.

"Right," he says, somewhat flustered. "Of course."

I feel slightly bad about how little I'm contributing to the conversation, but everything I have to say seems heavy and loaded, and I just can't find it in me to make trite small talk with this boy—this _man_—who changed my life so immensely all those years ago.

"Your mom and dad," he continues. "How're they?"

"Oh, they're fine. Still traveling quite a bit."

"That's nice."

_That's nice?_ Dear Lord, this is the most painful conversation ever. Why did he want to see me? So he could get an update on my mom and dad? I shake my head in an attempt to clear it and take a deep breath. I mentally build myself up with the conviction needed to tell him that this has been..._interesting,_ and to thank him for the coffee. "Edward. Look, I—"

"And Ava?" he whispers. "How's she?"

In an instant, every ounce of confidence I've managed to muster up leaves my body in the form of a _whoosh_ as I lose my breath. My sweaty hands claw at the booth seat under my thighs, and my posture turns rigid and stiff.

Squaring my shoulders, I inhale sharply and raise my eyes slowly to meet his. But when I look his direction, I notice he's sitting slouched on his side of the booth, eyes downcast, his fingers frantically fingering an abused sugar packet. He doesn't raise his head to look at me, even though he must know by my stillness that I sit stunned, staring. His downcast eyes blink in inconsistent intervals, and his hands shake slightly as they continue turning the sugar packets over and over.

In that instant, I pity Edward Cullen. He chose poorly, and in doing so he missed out on the greatest thing I've ever known: our daughter.

Relaxing my body, I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes to consider his question. Finally, when I'm certain I'll be able to talk without crumbling, I meet his question head on. "She's great," I whisper back. "Perfect."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to Tiffanyanne3.**

**Chapter 7**

**-0-0-0-**

I'm overcome with pity for him, in that moment, and ponder as I stare at his downturned eyes if I'm being too hard on him. He was just a kid, same as me, and he made a stupid, selfish decision. On the other hand, his choice labels him as a inconsiderate, heartless asshole in my eyes, and those are pretty huge character flaws.

He chews his lip while my answer hangs thickly in the air between us. Eventually, I can't take his self loathing anymore and I lean forward in an attempt at getting his attention.

"Edward..." My voice sounds shakier than it did in my head, and now that I've started talking I realize I have no idea what I intended to say.

Shaking my head slightly to clear my thoughts, I start again. "Why exactly are you doing this?" I blurt.

Shit. That wasn't nearly as eloquent as I'd planned.

I'm not sure what I expected, but I'm momentarily stunned by the pained look in his clear eyes when he lifts them to meet mine.

_Why am I feeling _sorry_ for this asshole?_

Like Emmett, I'm too easy to forgive and forget. It's a flaw in our personalities, one that was passed down from our pacifist mother. The same trait in my brother is the exact reason I'm sitting here today, across from a boy, a _man_, I swore I would never say another word to. Like my mother, Emmett hates knowing that people are upset with him, and he'll do anything to make things right again. Use of this knowledge about my brother makes it easy to play him like a fiddle. Did Edward take advantage of his kindness to worm information out of him?

And just like that, I'm angry again.

"Why'd you go see my brother?" I quiz him. My words don't sound very kind, but in this moment, I couldn't care less. "Do you have any idea how hard it was on him when you packed up and left town after finding out you'd knocked up his little sister?"

Edward doesn't even have the decency to get riled up. He just continues to sit slouched across from me, accepting my abuse while his shoulders sag under the weight of my words, and something akin to relief takes over his features. Maybe I've done him a favor by holding him accountable after all this time. It occurs to me that I might be the first person that hasn't knowingly enabled his selfish ways.

"Well?"

Clear green eyes flicker back and forth between mine, equal parts vulnerable and certain under the weight of my scrutiny. "I'm so incredibly sorry."

It's barely a whisper, and the heart-wrenching sadness in his tone shocks me into such a state of stunned silence I'm unable to do more than simply stare at him, shocked. I expected excuses from him, or feigned innocence at the very least. Never once, in the hundreds of times I pictured the way this meeting played out, did I expect him to show remorse or take responsibility for his actions.

He's beautiful, even in his sadness, and I can't help but take notice of his outwardly perfection. The youthful face from my memories has transformed into the solid, sharp face of a man. His bright eyes and the unkempt stubble on his jaw do nothing but add to his appeal...and that angers me. How can such outwardly beauty have such ugly internal flaws? I can't be like Emmett. Like our mother. I have Ava to think of, and I have to protect her-protect _us-_from the pain that Edward Cullen is capable of causing. I can't forgive him, and I can't ever forget. It's just too dangerous.

"You are sorry," I say, my voice low and even, surprising even to me in its confidence. "I don't know what you're playing at here, Edward, but it won't work. I'm not a little girl anymore."

"I'm not playing at anything." He pushes his hands into his hair roughly and tugs it harshly. "Why do you keep saying that?"

He's finally frustrated with me, and I wonder momentarily if I've pushed him too far. Should I retreat? Do I even care? I'm suddenly overcome with exhaustion, tired of over thinking every thought and feeling I have regarding Edward Cullen. I'm a confident person, save for today, and I can't understand why I continue to give him power over my emotions.

"Gosh. I have no idea why I'd think that..." I say dryly.

He rubs his hands over his face tiredly, but I think I detect a hint of a smile peeking out between his fingers. "Maybe I've changed," he says with a shoulder shrug.

"Mmm."

"_You're_ different, Bella. I can't be different, too?" There's a teasing lull to his voice, and I'm relieved that we've managed to move things in a lighter, more relaxed direction.

I sink back into my seat and pull my leg up underneath me, looking away from him with an exaggerated eye roll. "I'm different because I have a child, Edward. Incase you forgot."

"I didn't," he says with a shake of his head. "Forget."

"Right."

He drops his hands heavily on the table and leaves them there, long fingers spread wide. "I was a kid, alright? I was young, dumb..." His eyebrows turn down in the middle and he shakes his head slightly like he's calling back memories. "I fucked up. I realize that now."

"You missed out," I agree.

He lowers his eyes and the look of pain he wears like a scar returns. This time I witness the transformation of his beautiful face myself. I'm sad to see such beauty marred by sadness, but I can't help but feel vindicated in his suffering. Maybe I haven't matured as much as I thought.

We sit in silence for several moments, the heaviness of our situation settling back around us like a thick smoke.

"What's she like?" he asks, eyes turned down, unwilling to meet mine.

"Come on, Edward...are we really going to do this?"

"Please," he whispers, still not looking. "Please tell me."

He's so vulnerable, putting himself out there like this. I try to imagine myself in his shoes, but I can't. I can't fathom ever turning my back on my daughter. Regardless, he's trying, and he certainly seems sincere. As my heart softens toward him, my mind is aflutter with characteristics and attributes that describe Ava. It feels strange, describing my child to her father, but I try to make myself understand his curiosity.

Shifting forward, I fold my hands and rest them on the table top. "Well," I pause and wait for him to look at me. He does eventually and I'm once again floored by how much of Ava I see in him. "She looks just like you, for starters."

He lets out a gust of air, a breath I wasn't even aware he was holding, and beams at me. "Yeah?"

"Mmhmm," I shake my head side-to-side as if to say _I can't believe it either._

I'm smiling as I recall my girl, trying to sum up her sweet spirit in just a couple of words. "She's smart, and full of curiosity. Always has been. She's tiny for her age, but super sassy-"

"Just like you," he says through a smirk. Fuck me, I'd forgotten about that smirk.

I roll my eyes in exaggerated offense. "_Anyway_. She loves to draw and read. Play dress-up. Rose is always buying her makeup and nail polish...she's a real priss."

"Who's Rose?" His eyes are wide with excitement, almost shining in the dim lighting of the coffee shop, and I'm pleased to realize he's literally hanging on to my every word.

"Emmett's girlfriend. She's amazing," I gush. "She's been such a huge help to us, and such a good friend to me."

He simply nods, but I notice his eyes tighten at my mention of us needing help. I'm temporarily annoyed with myself for showing him the least bit of vulnerability in my quest to provide for Ava, but I immediately push the thought aside. I'm human, and I'm vulnerable, just like every other mother.

I shift the conversation back to Ava. "She's in Kindergarten this year. She had a hard time being away from us so much in the beginning, but she's adjusted well and she loves it now."

He's staring at me with his eyebrows furrowed. His lips pushed into a questioning pucker. Fuck me, those lips. I'd forgotten about them, too.

I'm uncomfortable under his intense stare. I feel like he's trying to take me apart. Figure out how I work. Look inside of me at the places I don't want him to see.

"What?"

He bites the inside of his lip and shrugs a shoulder. "Nothing," he says simply. "I like listening to you talk about her. You're an amazing mom."

"Thanks," I say, blushing.

"I think I knew you would be..." He lets his words trail off. "It gave me comfort."

He can't seriously expect me to believe he thought about us, much less _cared_ about our well being. I snort sarcastically under my breath to let him know I'm not buying the brand of bullshit he's selling.

He moves his arm across our table and bumps my raised knee affectionately. "You were sweet. Caring. Even then."

"I was dumb. Naive." I correct.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

I'm in the kitchen making myself a heaping bowl of grits-with extra butter- when the doorbell rings. Home alone, I consider ignoring it altogether, but curiosity gets the best of me and I place my steaming bowl on a placemat to cool while I check the door. I can see through the obscured glass that it's not Anglea...the only person who ever visits me.

Pressing my face to the glass, I'm completely stunned to see the tousled hair and lanky outline of Edward Cullen.

A glance at my feet reminds me that I'm barefoot and still wearing an old pair of Emmett's boxer shorts underneath a ratty tank top. Of-fucking-course.

I unlock the bolt on the door and open it just far enough for me to stick my head through.

"Oh, hey Edward." I make a real effort to sound casual. "Em's not here. Mom & Dad wanted him to tour a bunch of campuses today."

He stands up tall and rests his hand on the front door, giving it a small push. "Mind if I come in and wait?"

I pull the door open wide enough to let him pass and then turn quickly to lock it back, taking a moment to compose myself before turning back around to face him. His eyes scan my body from head to bare toes, making my cheeks flame hot under his gaze.

"Nice boxers, Birdie." he says with a smirk.

Tugging on the hem of my tank, I gesture awkwardly toward the kitchen. "I was just making some grits. You want some?"

Edward shakes his head, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "I haven't had grits since I was, like, five."

"Well then you've been missing out," I lead the way into the kitchen, him trailing behind me. "I'm a grits pro."

"Are you now."

I nod, stirring my cooled grits. "Mm."

Taking a seat at the table beside me, Edward drags my bowl his way and grabs my spoon. "I think I'll have to see for myself, Birdie."

He takes a heaping spoonful and brings it to his mouth. I have to look away. The sight of his full lips hugging the spoon, my spoon, would surely be too much for me to handle.

I give him a moment to swallow before raising my eyebrow in silent question. "Well?"

"Guess I've been missing out after all."

Kicking his legs out in front of him, he watches me finish my snack in silence. After I'm done, I rise and bring my bowl to the sink, rinsing it off and placing it in the dishwasher. Edward swivels in his chair and his eyes follow my every move. My normal routine is completely thrown off kilter under the heavy stare of this gorgeous boy sitting at my kitchen table. We've never been in the same place without the buffer of my overly loud brother. As much as he annoys me, I'm learning that Emmett's exuberance gives me permission to fade quietly into the background of my own home.

Wiping my hands on a dishrag, I cross over to stand in front of Edward. "You can wait for Emmett in his room...or..."

He rises to his feet, standing close to me. "Or, what?"

Overcome with a bout of shyness, I chew my lip nervously and look up at him. "Or nothing."

Taking a small step to fill the gap between us, he looks me up and down once more. "Can I wait out here? With you?"

My senses are totally overcome with all things Edward. His scent, all clean boy and summer, is the only thing I can smell. The air literally pulses around me with the heat of his body so near to mine. I briefly wonder if I might be drowning in him.

I must take too long to give him a direct answer, because he reaches a hand out and tugs playfully at the bottom of my tank top. It doesn't escape my notice that his hand lingers on my hip after the tugging is done.

"Of course," I breathe.

The hand he has on my hip gives me a little squeeze, at the same time pulling me forward, so that we're face to chest. Equal parts elated and terrified, I'm unsure where to put my hands. They hang limply at my sides until I finally convince one to rise and hook itself through the belt loop on Edward's pants.

Having never been this close to a beautiful boy before, I have no idea what to do next. I'm a mess of nerves- eye blinking, rapid breathing, the works- and my mind is spinning out of control, overcome with all things Edward.

In a sudden bout of confidence, I raise my face to look up at his. My breath catches in my throat when I realize how close he is. Right there. He exudes his usual confidence, but there's an underlying look of softness in his eyes that I've never seen before. A sweetness that I didn't know existed.

"Have you ever been kissed, Birdie?" he whispers.

Unable to speak, I simply shake my head, my eyes never leaving his.

The hand on my hip squeezes and tugs once more, until I'm standing unbalanced between his legs. I bring my hands up to his chest to right myself, my breath catching at the feel of his body through the thin material of his t-shirt.

My mind is screaming at me to pay attention. This is happening! I'm about to be kissed by this gorgeous boy! But I'm in a trance, unable to process anything other than the feel of my hands on his chest, his on my hip, my neck, underneath the back of my hair.

His face draws nearer as his thumb softly rubs the sensitive space just below my ear. On instinct, my eyes drift close just as I feel his breath on my face, his mouth on my mouth, lips on my lips.

His kisses are sweet, gentle. Using his thumb to move my mouth where he wants it, he nips and pulls at me, coaxing my lips apart little by little. Relaxing, I begin follow his lead, small flutters of confidence and desire arising in my belly. A small hum breaks my concentration and I wonder briefly if it's Edward...growling? Buzzing?

"The garage door!" I push Edward back with the hands I had resting on his chest and he stumbles back into the chair he'd been sitting in previously.

Wiping frantically at my mouth frantically, I'm begging the blood in my cheeks to retreat when the door in the kitchen blows open and Emmett bounds inside, followed closely by our parents.

"Cullen!" he bellows, bumping Edward's fist. "You're early, dude."

Keeping my back turned seems like a good idea, considering how flushed I must look. I ignore Emmett's boisterous arrival and pretend to busy myself with looking through the fridge.

"No worries," I hear Edward say. "I've just been talking to Bella."

My heart soars at his use of my given name. Turning just enough to see his face, I shoot him an appreciative smile, silently thanking him for covering for me. For us.

Emmett says nothing, and his silence can only mean one thing: I'm about to be on the receiving end of some serious harassing.

Sure enough...

"Jesus, Birdie! Do you not own any fucking pants?" he hollers at me.

I turn and give him my best, most innocent smile. Beside my brother, Edward sits comfortably, his smile wide and his eyes bright. No amount of Emmett's razzing can phase me today. I just kissed Edward Cullen. Edward Cullen just kissed me.

"Emmett! Language!" my mother shouts.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**-0-0-0-**

Life settles into a familiar routine in the days following my meetup with Edward. Having spent the past six years coming to terms with the reality that I'd likely never see him again, it takes a few days for me to digest the time I spent sitting across a table from him. The solid wall I'd built around my daughter and myself had abruptly cracked, his presence alone damaging the years of contentment I'd convinced myself I'd found.

There's an unexplainable bond linking you to the person with whom you share a child, even if you don't actually _share_ that child. For years Edward's place in our life was that of a sperm donor and little else. I'd allow my mind to wander at night, when things were dark and quiet, and the whispered voices of _what if_ and _why not_ crawled out from the deepest corners of my soul. Why wasn't I enough? Why weren't _we_ enough? But during the day, with the hustle and bustle of mommyhood, those guttural feelings retreated and left me feeling wholly satisfied with my little girl and our little family. She was mine, I'd remind myself, and that was enough for me.

I was wrong, though, and I know that now. His beautiful face, with eyes so like hers and hair just the same. His body, six years older than I remembered and the memories of the way if felt against mine, pinning me down, burning me up. His quiet demeanor, so different from the cocky boy I hated remembering. I ache for him even when I don't. There's a blank space where a father should have been, and he's the only one who fits. Who _should _fit. Despite my hatred for him, and despite my disappointment, I can't deny his hold over me. Over us.

Coming to terms with his return to our small town takes longer for me than I'd expected and longer than my brother has the patience for. I worry endlessly that we'll run into him while we were out and about, or that he'll just show up at our door. He's kept his distance, though, after our coffee talk, and I appreciate the space. It's given me time to think and time to work towards softening my heart toward Edward Cullen.

-0-0-0-

"You see your boy today?" Emmett reaches around me for a stack of plates and carries them to the table.

Equipped with silverware and a fierce look of disdain, I follow him to the small breakfast room just off the kitchen. "He's not my boy. And no."

"I thought you guys were, like, buds now?" Emmett places four plates around the small table, all alike in their plainness save for one colorful rainbow setting that marks Ava's seat.

I follow directly behind him, laying forks and knives on napkins, my eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "Why on earth would you think that?"

He shrugs. "I don't know; your date or whatever."

"Our date?" I guffaw. "You're such an idiot."

"He said you spent time at a coffee shop talking. Alone. Sounds like a date to me." He sounds smug. I hate smug.

"Wait. You talked to him?" I halt my table setting and tug on the back of his shirt. "You're a freaking traitor. That's what you are."

"Who's a traitor, Momma?" Ava rounds the kitchen corner with Rosalie by her side. They'd been reading together—a daily requirement for Ava's school—while Emmett and I prepared supper. The smell of lasagna, Ava's favorite, has her circling the kitchen like a hound dog.

"No one, love." I put a glass of water on her placemat and pull her chair back. "Ready to eat?"

We sit down together, our little dysfunctional family of four, and pile our plates high with lasagna and the salad that Emmett has prepared.

"Highs and Lows," Ava quips, mouth full of food. "Momma, you go first."

"Me first?" I think about my day while I chew my salad. "High; I had a good day at work. Low; I have a big test to study for tonight."

I invented the High/Low game for Ava when she started school and suddenly became too cool to tell me about her day. Gradually, the silly sharing game expanded to include the whole family.

Rose chews quietly to my left, pondering her turn. She swallows, then smiles at Ava. "High; hearing Bug read an entire chapter out of her book." She turns her head toward Emmett and narrows her eyes. "Low; I was late for work this morning."

My brother's ears turn red, and he lowers his eyes to his plate. "High; we're having lasagna. It's my fave. Low," he stops to clear his throat, "I was late for work this morning, too."

"Oh, gross." I mutter. Emmett has the decency to look properly abashed. Rosalie shoots me an evil grin.

"You're up, Bug," she says, looking at Ava. Never a more welcome subject change.

"High," Ava sits up proudly. "I got to lead the line to the library today. Low; I talked too much at lunch and didn't get to finish my pudding."

Emmett chuckles and reaches over to ruffle her hair. "Serious stuff, Bug."

-0-0-0-

"He stopped by and talked to Emmett today," Rosie says quietly. We're standing side by side at the sink, up to our elbows in suds and foam. I can hear Ava's bath water running from the other end of the house, a sign that she and Emmett are sufficiently preoccupied.

I use my wrist to push a stray piece of hair from my cheek. "I assume you mean Edward," I say. "What'd he want?"

"I think he just wants to feel connected, Bella. To you. To Emmett...I'm not really sure." She grabs a towel from the counter, wiping her hands as she turns to rest her hip against the sink.

Scrubbing viciously at a stubborn speck of food, I shake my head. "It's hard for me _not _to take offense at that, Rosie. Why didn't he want to feel connected six years ago?"

Placing her warm fingers against my arm, she quiets my thrashing. I drop the abandoned dish back in the water and turn to look at her. Rosalie's blue eyes stare back at me, full of understanding and free of judgement. She's accepted me, flaws and all, and she loves me just the same.

She tucks my hair behind my ear and rests her hand against my neck. "I really think he's changed, Birdie," she whispers. "And you have, too."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

The day after Edward kissed me in the kitchen of my house, our parents went out of town and left Emmett and me to fend for ourselves. I had an upcoming exam in Chemistry to study for, so I fully intended to spend my weekend holed up in my room, observing the occasional study break for important things like napping and painting my toenails.

I slept late Saturday morning, not emerging from my down-feathered cocoon until nearly noon, and only then because the urge to pee became too much for me to sleep through. A quick scan of my messy floor revealed a perfect weekend uniform in the way of ratty boxers and an old, loose tank top. I hastily threw both on and sleepily made my way out of my room and down the hall to the bathroom.

I heard the girls before I saw them. They were giggle-whispering to each other just inside the bathroom, bikini clad and heavily slathered in suntan oil. I wrinkled my sun-kissed nose in disgust and announced my arrival with two swift knuckle raps on the doorjamb.

Mass amounts of high-pitched laughter accompanied Lauren's surprised squeal. "Birdie! You scared us!"

"Bella," I corrected. "Sorry."

I fidgeted awkwardly as her eyes did a quick and practiced head-to-toe body scan.

"You're so adorable," she eventually declared. "Right, Jess?"

Jessica nodded dutifully at her side, her brown curls bobbing fiercely. "Oh, yeah. Totally cute."

I hated them both so much.

Lauren raised a hand and petted the top of my head. "And you're, like, practically pocket-sized!" she cooed.

Jessica's head continued to bobble. "Totally tiny!"

I flicked my head toward the bathroom and smiled tightly. "Mind if I have a turn in here?"

Lauren squealed and Jessica bobbed. It was like some type of synchronized ditz dance. "Oh, gosh! Sorry!"

We traded places, me in the bathroom, them in the hallway, and I turned around to give them a two-fingered salute before shutting the door. Lauren wiggled her plastic-tipped fingers at me and linked her arm with Jessica's. "The boys are waiting for us, so we'll see you later, Birdie!"

"Bella," I muttered as the door shut behind me. "Fucking idiot."

It wasn't until I was finally emptying my bladder that I realized what she'd said. The _boys_ are waiting for us.

The boys. Emmett and Edward.

Edward. In the pool with Lauren and Jessica. At my house.

I hated myself for how quickly my eyes filled with tears. I'm no idiot, I should have known that a kitchen kiss with Edward didn't mean anything; didn't change anything. Just because I'd spent all night remembering the way it felt to have his mouth on me and reliving the way his warm fingers felt against the bare skin of my stomach, didn't mean he'd given our kiss anything more than a passing thought.

I should have known.

The decision to walk over to the balcony window was much harder than it should have been. I hated that I couldn't stop myself from looking. What happened to the girl who'd never compromise herself for some pretty guy? How could my entire sense of self worth already be wrapped up in the approval of the taker of my first kiss? I hated him for adding me to the long list of willing users, and I hated myself for knowingly signing up. My heart ached as my body drove me closer to the window overlooking the backyard at the end of the hall. I mindlessly stepped forward until my toes pressed against the baseboards and my breath fogged the glass. My palms tingled as they pressed against the warm, sun-kissed pane.

She was wrapped around him like a spider monkey. Her legs twisted all the way around his waist so that he had no choice but to grip her ass below the waters lapping edge. Maybe he planned it that way.

Her orange arms were crossed over each other around the back of his neck, and her plastic nails scratched at the back of his head. My stomach lurched when he tucked his head and turned his face into the side of her neck. I saw red when she threw her head back in what I could only assume was either another shrill giggle or a breathless moan.

I caught a salty tear with my tongue and watched as he smoothly spun her in a lazy circle in the water. His tan back teased me, and the blonde hairs at the base of his hairline taunted me. I hated him. I wanted him.

* * *

><p>Two weeks, to the day, after my coffee meeting with Edward, I'm at work when my phone chimes with an incoming text.<p>

**Emmett gave me your number...don't be mad.**

I, of course, know immediately who it is. I think on some weird level I'd been waiting to hear from him. At the very least, I'd expected it.

Ducking behind the pie case, I punch out a quick reply.

**I'm immune to everything Emmett does. **

We aren't supposed to have our phones out while we're working, so I drop mine in the pocket of my apron and pretend to focus intently on wiping down the nearest counter top.

A few minutes pass before I feel it vibrate against my hip. I try to ignore it, really I do, but I've chewed my lower lip raw, and I'm going to wipe off the varnish on the cheap laminate countertops if I don't get a grip.

How can it already be this difficult to ignore him?

My co-worker Kathy is busing a nearby table, and I swing by to let her know I'm going to take a quick bathroom break. The diner is silly slow this time of day, so I don't think I'll miss out on anything by giving my tables over to her.

Once in the bathroom, I lock myself in the dank stall and lean my back against the wall. I force myself to take ten steady, deep breaths and calm the fuck down. A handful of written words from him and I'm already losing my mind! No way, not this time. I've already done the bumbling, fawning lackey thing with Edward Cullen once. I'd rather not do it again.

That little mental pep talk is all I need to right myself back to reality. A reality where I'm not sixteen and Edward's not my teenage idol. A reality where I carried his child, alone, while he skirted away with a brisk _thanks, but no thanks_, and tried to reinsert himself back in my life six years later.

**Can I see you? **his text says.

I'm back to abusing my lip, turning his words over and over in my head before giving my fingers permission to type a response.

**I'm working...**

His reply is immediate. **Later, then? Tonight?**

I have no idea why he wants to see me, but I'm afraid I'll be disappointed if I ask.

**No, not tonight. Emmett's turn to cook dinner & I have a ton of homework to tackle after Ava goes to bed...**

Several minutes pass without a reply, and I worry I've hurt his feelings. Immediately, I wonder why I care.

I don't want to lie to Kathy, so I make myself use the bathroom quickly before heading back out. I've just finished washing up when I feel my phone buzz once more from its home in my apron pocket.

Drying my hands, I pull it out and frown in confusion.

**Where are you?**

What the heck, dude. I just told you...

**I'm at work, remember?**

Some people never change, is what I'm thinking as I pocket my phone for the last time and push my way back out front through the swinging double doors behind the counter. Kathy's bent over the lower cooler, but she turns abruptly when she sees me and flicks one artificially arched eyebrow toward the diner door.

Confused, I follow her stare and find Edward Cullen, perfectly tailored suit and hair expertly disarrayed, standing near the jukebox. Smirking at me.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks to my beta, Tiffanyanne3**

**Chapter 9**

**-0-0-0-**

"What are you doing here?" I grab Edward's arm just above the elbow and spin him in a half circle so that his back is blocking my view of Kathy's prying eyes.

_Jesus Christ._ I withhold an exasperated eye roll. _Even his elbow is firm._

His eyes are light and playful as they bounce between my face and the hand I've yet to remove from his arm. "I wanted to see you." He shrugs, all cute boy and innocence. "You said you were working, so..."

When he lifts his head to scan the diner, I'm suddenly embarrassed to see what he sees. Through his eyes the faded country decor and old mismatched Fiestaware must look haphazard and depressing at best. The clunky cash register on the counter is probably older than I am, and the jukebox by the door predates us both. Kathy's pretending to dry glasses behind the cracked and chipped formica counters, her frizzy brown hair half in, half out of its twisted bun. Her lips are in a constant state of pucker, having spent years wrapped around the end of a cigarette. She looks rough, much older than she actually is, and she's full of the stories to prove it. Beyond all that, though, she's one of the kindest, most generous people I know, and I'm instantly defensive of her and the little diner that has put a paycheck in my pocket and food on our table since I was eighteen years old.

"Right," I hiss. "I'm _working. _So what's with the unexpected drop-in?"

I'm fisting my faded apron and gesturing wildly, which is equal parts embarrassing and, well, _weird_. I gently drop the fabric and smooth its creases before stuffing my fists in the apron's oversized pockets where they're sure to behave.

Edward's eyes continue to dance as though he's the sole teller of some secret joke. He finds my discomfort funny, I observe. He finds _me _funny.

I narrow my eyes and am preparing to tell him just how entirely unfunny this situation really is, when he lifts his hands in mock defeat and takes a sarcastic step back. "Whoa, take it easy. I just want a bite to eat."

"Right," I mutter. "A bite to eat." Grabbing a menu and a roll of utensils from the basket near the door, I jerk my head toward the furthest booth in the back, near a corner window. "Right this way, then."

He follows too closely while I lead him through the diner to his seat. Kathy's all grins and giggles as he passes, and I shoot her my best look of exasperated wariness. He's used to this I'm sure—women falling all over him—and although he remains silent behind me, I know he eats it up. Or, well, he _used_ to anyway.

I wish I could say I didn't understand what all the hype is about, but I'd be lying through my teeth. He's beautiful, that's what. But it's more than that, too. He carries himself well, confidence that borders on cocky, as if he knows exactly where he's going and precisely where he's been. His lopsided half smile and sheepish hair-tugging only adds to his appeal, and while I once thought them rehearsed, I'm no longer convinced they aren't genuine.

So, yeah. I fucking get it.

I slap his menu down on the table and wave my arm widely, a sarcastic _please, have a seat._

He pauses to unbutton his suit jacket before grinning widely and folding his long body into the sticky plastic bench seat. Seeing Edward Cullen—wearer of fancy suits and hair so perfectly coifed—perched behind a faded yellow, plastic-topped table is a contradiction so strong that a frantic giggle threatens to erupt from my throat. I tamper that shit down.

I dig my order pad from my apron pocket and pull one (of three) pencil's from my bun before giving it a swift and impatient _tap tap _against the paper. "What can I get you?"

His smile is wide. "What do you recommend?"

"It's probably easier for me to list what I _don't _recommend," I drop my voice to a whisper and throw a cautious glance over my shoulder. "Stay away from the fish."

I see my Ava in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he chuckles. "Duly noted," he says.

It knocks the wind out of me, these unpredicted moments when I see her in him. This _thing_ that we're doing, whatever this is, is so, _so_ real. He's like two separate people: the Edward from my youth, back to tease me and flirt his way under my skin, and the Edward of today, exactly one half of what makes up my baby girl. I want to fall to my knees in front of _that_ Edward and beg him to explain. _How could you reject us? How could you turn your back on her? _

It's irrational, this thought process, and it's an unwelcome voice in my head. I don't want to feel tied to him this way, and yet I _do_, because I_ am_. And forever I will be. Rejection or not, he looks like her. He made her. She's here because of him.

He'd likely label me crazy if he could hear what a simple deterrence of fish could do to my head. Better that I keep those thoughts and emotions under lock and key, in the deepest parts of my heart where they're protected.

"So," I raise my eyebrows in question. "What'll it be?"

He folds his menu shut and begins unbuttoning and rolling the sleeves of his blue dress shirt. "I'll start with a sweet tea." He pauses to look at me for approval.

"It's safe," I say.

His laugh is deep and friendly, and with his sleeves rolled up and one knee crossed over the other, he is the picture of complete and total relaxation. I envy him.

"So, sweet tea, then, and an order of the smothered steak with brown gravy. Mashed potatoes and green beans," he continues.

"Good choice," I compliment him. "I'll get it right out."

Turning on my heel, I head back to the kitchen to drop his order off. Kathy, of course, is waiting just behind the swinging double doors, ready to accost me at first glance.

"Who" —she drawls the word out like a reverent sigh— "is that?"

Snapping Edward's order into the ticket holder, I address his "title" publicly for the first time. "An old friend from high school," I lie.

Kathy gives my shoulders a squeeze and lets loose a throaty, nicotine-laced cackle. "Well, lucky you!"

I offer her a shrug of indifference. "He's an ass," I say.

"The pretty ones usually are," she calls on her way back to the counter.

I let Edward eat his meal without many interruptions, checking on him occasionally like any good waitress would. Other than a gracious smile when I refill his tea, he keeps to himself in his corner booth. I make it a point not to stare at him, although, like a magnet, my gaze is drawn to his corner section. Aside from the occasional check and re-pocket of his phone, he simply alternates between eating quietly and gazing out the window toward the diner's cracked and pot-holed parking lot. His presence in this place looms large, and he's on my mind as I multitask my way through each of my mundane waitress duties. I'm wiping down counters while I wonder if he's lonely. I'm re-plating pie as I berate myself for caring. I'm topping off coffee while I ponder where he lives, and refilling ketchup bottles as I wonder if it's alone.

He stretches and rubs his stomach in contentment when I clear his empty plate. "That good, huh?" I inquire.

Wiping his hands on his napkin, he folds it in half and tosses it on the table. "I don't get many home-cooked meals," he says through a grin.

"Trust me," I snort. "That wasn't anywhere close to 'home cooked.'''

He shrugs sheepishly. "It wasn't pizza, and it wasn't Chinese takeout."

I'm oddly at ease standing next to Edward's table, my hip resting against its edge, one leg crossed over the other. He's friendly, I realize, and talking to him is easy when I allow it to be. There's an air of humility surrounding him now that was never there when we were younger. He's confident, yes, but also...humble?

The words are out of my mouth before I can give them permission. "You don't cook?"

His cheeks flare pink momentarily. "Beyond the occasional grilled cheese and Bagel Bites?" He shakes his head. "No."

"Ugh," I wrinkle my nose in disgust. "Bagel Bites? Gross."

"This from the girl who eats instant grits for more than just breakfast," he says, grinning.

I'm embarrassingly pleased that he remembered. "It's good stuff," I laugh, shrugging.

He gestures toward the empty booth across from him. "Can you sit?" he asks.

I'm torn. While, admittedly, I'm enjoying this light and easy back-and-forth, sitting down across from him seems alarmingly intimate. I'm terrified of how easy it is to let my guard down with this new version of him. It's been years since I've been silly and girlish, yet he reduces me to a giggly puddle of goo in a matter of minutes.

Three months ago, if I'd been told I could say anything I wanted to Edward Cullen after these long six years, it certainly wouldn't have gone anything like this: "I'd better not. Work, you know? Maybe some other time."

We stare awkwardly at each other for an uncomfortable beat before I smile and turn to go grab his check.

"Hey, Bella?" he calls softly just as I start to step away.

"Yeah?"

I turn halfway and look at him expectantly. His pressed shirt and tailored pants look strikingly bizarre when paired with his boyish posture. I can't help but grin at the lopsided smirk on his familiar face. This boy introduced me to my own heart, promptly broke it, and then left me with a constant reminder of how full to overflowing it'd once been for him. Now marred with scars and hardened by grief, still the powerful organ recognizes him. His smile; his familiar quiet-yet-teasing demeanor. And a new addition: his kindness.

"Can we talk?" he asks, heavy and serious this time.

I feel less like a parent and more like a little girl, vulnerable in my sudden shyness, as I make my way back over to where he sits.

"Okay," I say quietly. "About what?"

He runs his fingers roughly through the hair at the back of his head before lifting his eyes to mine, eyebrows furrowed, face so serious. "Everything..." He gives a short laugh of exasperation. "Ava. Me, you...the past six years. Just...everything."

The desire to finally be honest with him bubbles up in me so quickly that I scarcely recognize the words as they pour from my mouth. "I'm scared," I whisper.

Our eyes dance back and forth as the weight of what I've just admitted settles upon us both. The hum of the ancient light hanging over his head does little to drown out the sound of my own blood rushing through my ears.

There's no crinkly eyes this time. No sarcastic laugh or teasing comment. His eyes simply continue their dance with mine, the smooth expanse between his eyebrows creasing up in concentration.

"Of what?" he asks softly, his voice so quiet I have to watch his lips to match them to his words.

It's hard for me to admit the hold he has on me. The hold he's _had _on me. He's obviously accomplished quite a bit in the time he's been away, likely more than just whatever degree got him in that suit and tie. He didn't trade his youth for a nap schedule or delay his college education in pursuit of a GED. He can't possibly understand what I've sacrificed for the honor of rocking my baby to sleep or witnessing her first words and steps and feats.

"You," I tell him, feeling bold in my vulnerability. "I'm scared of you, and what you're capable of. Ava can't ever know how it feels to be unwanted by you."

-0-0-0-

It feels so good to be home later that evening, out from under the weight of my conversation with Edward. We parted ways at the diner on friendly terms, but things seemed heavy and uncomfortable. No amount of regret or change of heart could undo the events of the past, and I think Edward is finally starting to understand that. I agreed to talk with him, though, and admittedly, I'm anxious to hear what exactly his "everything" entails.

I trade my apron for a pair of cotton shorts and a tank, then let my hair out of its high knot. Ava and Emmett are playing a board game on the living room floor, and I'm so bone tired and grateful that it's Friday night that I give myself permission to throw our routines and schedules out the window for a bit.

I slide in next to Ava, choosing her as my teammate over Emmett due to his tendency to be both a cheater _and _a sore loser.

"How was work today, Birdie?" my brother asks, moving his tiny plastic person forward a space. An _extra _space, I notice.

"The usual," I say, helping Ava nudge him back to the correct square. "You?"

"Same."

"Where's Rosie, Uncle Em?" Ava asks, counting out spaces for her turn.

"She's staying at home, Bug. It's just us Swans, tonight." Emmett does this ridiculous beak-pecking thing that he's done ever since we learned how to sign "Swan" in one of Ava's baby sign language classes.

She giggles uncontrollably, always prepared to be the fuel for his goofy and lovable fire.

"Why doesn't she sleep here always?" Ava asks after catching her breath.

I watch silently as Emmett throws the die and counts out his spaces. "She has a house, Bug. She lives there."

"Yeah," Ava continues, having forgotten about her turn. "But don't you miss her when she's not here? With you."

Emmett glances up at me with a wary look. He's never really enjoyed the heavier aspects of living with an inquisitive six-year-old.

"Sure, I do," he says simply, turning his attention back to the game.

Undeterred, Ava moves ahead with her relentless questioning. "So why don't you stay together always?"

My attempt to rescue Emmett is direct and to the point. "Ava, sometimes even when people love each other very much, they still need time apart," I say.

Ava ponders what I've said and then looks back at her uncle. "Are you going to marry Rosie and live with her forever?"

Although he's trying to busy himself with re-adjusting the timer, I see the blush creep up the sides of Emmett's neck. "Maybe," he pauses to glance briefly at me. "Probably. Someday."

Ava seems satisfied with his answer and returns her attention to the game. She and Emmett are bickering over whose turn it is, but my mind is preoccupied with digesting everything Emmett has just said.

I love Rose like a sister, and I'd welcome her into our family with open arms. She's the perfect person to counterbalance Emmett. Add to that the facts that our mom and dad love her and she's always been great with Ava, and there's no question that Emmett would be lucky to have her as his wife.

I'm disappointed in myself, though, for the twinge of insecurity I feel when I think about Emmett leaving our home in pursuit of his own family. He's been here every single minute of my walk through parenting Ava, and he's excelled at being her uncle. He'll make a great daddy someday, and he deserves nothing less than a family. A _real _family.

I wonder if I've ever told him that? Have I ever let him know that he has my blessing to spread his wings and go? That I couldn't be prouder of him or more honored to be his sister? I wonder if he feels trapped here with us, _with me_, because of how much I've always leaned on him in the past?

I steal a quick glance at him from over the game board and meet his questioning eyes. _Everything okay? _they say.

Giving him my biggest, most encouraging smile, I nod once and shrug my shoulders in nonchalance. _Everything's fine, _I tell him silently.

And it is. It will be.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**-0-0-0-**

It's been one week since I watched Edward with Lauren in our pool. The two of them have been back at our house several times since then, but I've already seen more than enough of the Edward & Lauren Show, so I try not to come out of my room unless it's absolutely necessary.

My mother is worried, I think, as much as any distracted mother can be. "You're not getting enough vitamin D, Birdie," she tells me on a regular basis. "You're too skinny," she says. "Eat!"

She hurls these critiques at me on her way out the door to antique shop for some rare Airsteam "gem", or from her perch in front of the computer. Whatever. It's not like I'd actually confide in her anyway, even if she really did care.

_Well, see...I shared a kiss -my first, not his- with Edward. You know, my brother's best friend? He's acted like it didn't happen and that I don't exist and, the icing on the cake, I get to watch him hook up with other girls in our pool. Help, Mom! What should I do?_

No way. Never.

I wish it were as easy as counting down the days until Emmett left for college, thus taking Edward with him, but it's only just June, so they're not going anywhere anytime soon.

So I read. And when I'm not reading, I sleep. Sometimes I fall asleep reading. It's depressing, and not at all the way I envisioned spending my summer vacation. Angela comes around on occasion, but I get the feeling her parent's aren't all that comfortable with her being at our house. And why would they be? I have a Neanderthal for an older brother and parent's who care more about camp life than they do about their own kids. I mean, come on.

My brother thrives off my misfortune, which is a normal part of my life and something I've been dealing with since he was old enough to talk. Which, for the record, wasn't until he was three. Despite being a full two years behind him, I had the nerve to speak first and that is a grudge, I believe, he holds against me to this day. I still throw a "use your words, Emmett" at him on occasion when his ego gets out of control.

What was once a normal, albeit annoying, part of sibling-hood is now humiliating and intolerable because it's all done in the presence of Edward. Edward, who's in the kitchen when I go to get a snack. Edward, who's in the pool if I feel like going for a swim. Edward, who's splayed out on the living room couch flipping through the channels when I'm in the mood to watch television.

He is everywhere. My room is the only safe place.

"Don't you ever go home?" I ask when I find him in the laundry room, transferring his clothes from the washer to the dryer.

He pauses sorting to shoot me a cheesy grin. "Not if I can help it."

"Don't your parents wonder where their son is?" I ask him, bluntness making my words sound harsh.

He shrugs a shoulder and pushes the dryer door shut. "Not likely."

I roll my eyes. His dad's a lawyer-the most popular in town-and his mom works in the office at his firm. I'm no dummy, the 'oh poor Edward' act doesn't fool me.

"I'm sure you're so mistreated." I say dryly.

"What's with the attitude, Princess Birdie?" he asks me, crossing a leg and leaning back against the washing machine.

Ignoring him for the moment, I point to where he's standing, "Mind if I...?"

He moves out of my way and I turn away from him, busying myself with loading my clothes. "There's no attitude," I say with a bored shrug.

The silence that follows my admission is deafening, and I wonder yet again if I've succeeded in pushing him away. Is that what I actually want? As usual, I feel his heat before I register his touch. He's pressed up against my hip, both of his legs straddling one of mine. He leans over my shoulder and moves my hair back with his nose.

"No?" he whispers into my neck.

I can't control the rippling shudder that passes through my body anymore than I can control the way my head falls to the side to give him full access to my neck.

Traitorous body!

"No," I repeat, embarrassed by my raspy voice.

He runs his nose up and down the side of my neck, from ear to collarbone. "You sound a little mad."

I grip the front of the washer and, if I'm being honest, hold on for dear life. "Why would I be mad?" I murmur, rhetorically.

"I have no idea," he says against my neck, sliding his hands around my waist and rubbing my belly with his thumbs.

The sound that leaves my throat is unlike any noise I've ever made. It sounds sexual and wanton. It sounds hot and confident and as if I actually know what I'm doing. It sounds like...Lauren.

I nudge him away with my elbow. "Quit..." I whisper, but the command sounds weak and ridiculous, even to my own ears.

He steps back immediately, though and gives me several feet of space. When I turn to face, him, I'm surprised to see that he looks hurt by my rejection.

We stare at each other a beat too long, my eyes holding his until it becomes too much and I drop them to the floor. I can feel his discomfort at our awkwardness rolling off of him in waves.

"I don't like guessing games, Bella." he drops his voice to a firm whisper. "If you're pissed at me just say so. I won't dig it out of you."

In addition to standing almost a foot taller than me, he's suddenly made me feel like a properly abashed child. How dare he accuse me of playing games? This isn't a guessing game! It's not any kind of game at all. I draw a breath to tell him exactly that, but to my horror, my eyes fill with tears instead.

No! NO! I can't let him see me cry!

Too late. I can tell by the way he sighs heavily and hangs his head he's already seen my tears and he's not happy. He seems annoyed that I'm emoting and that he's burdened with the task of having to babysit this unforeseen meltdown.

"Come here," he says softly, holding out a hand to me. I stare at his upturned fingers, mortified that my tears have reduced him to pretending to care.

He lifts his eyebrows in impatience and says it again. "Come."

I walk toward his hand, but I don't touch him. I feel too embarrassed, too stupid. He tugs my wrist lightly so that I step forward once more until I'm face to chest with him. "What is it?" he says again, softly this time.

This is my last chance to tell him what I'm thinking, I know that much is true. His patience has run its limit and he's annoyed that he's had to coddle me through this. It's now or never.

Tugging my wrist from his grasp, I curl my arms around my torso tightly, as though my physical grip is enough to trick my body into thinking I'm strong.

I raise my eyes from the floor to meet his, all green and clear under dark furrowed brows. "I won't be your sloppy seconds," I tell him quietly, confidence missing from my declaration.

His eyebrows dip deeper in confusion. "What're you taking about?" he asks harshly.

"Lauren," I say, and her name sounds dirty on my tongue. "I won't do...this," I gesture wildly between the two of us, "with you while you're doing...that," more gesturing, "with her."

"Lauren's...," he tugs at the brim of his hat, lifting it off to scratch his head before tugging it back down roughly. "Nothing. She's nothing."

Maybe I look unconvinced, because he pulls his lanky body from the wall and puts a hand around my hip, pulling me into him. "Seriously," he whispers, his head dipping low to find my eyes. "Trust me."

If possible, I feel even more young and naive than I ever have before as I lean in to meet his kiss.

_._

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

"I hear Edward Cullen is back in town," my mother says nonchalantly, popping a stray cheese cube in her mouth.

We're all at my parents house for our weekly family dinner. It's less of a family _dinner _and more of a _let's drink wine and grill Bella _party. "Hmmm," I hum noncommittally, concentrating with false intensely on the crackers I'm arranging on an appetizer tray.

"That's right," she continues, unperturbed. "I ran into Esme Cullen at The Market this week and she mentioned that he'd just moved back."

The Market is what my mother calls the overcrowded antique store that houses a leased booth of Airstream memorabilia and other...well, complete _shit_ that she and my dad deem valuable enough to sell to others.

My lack of response seems to fuel her on further. "She was looking for an antique desk for Edward's office at the firm," she pauses to sip her wine dramatically before continuing. "That poor woman has the most dreadful taste. I'd never tell her that, of course. Anyway, yes, he's back in town and working with his father now. Did you know that?"

It is physically painful for me to withhold an eye-roll. I focus instead on opening the jar of olives I've just pulled from the fridge. "No," I say distractedly. "I hadn't heard that."

_Technically_, what I say is true. I really hadn't heard that Edward is working for his father, and I'm pretty shocked to hear it now. I didn't think he liked his dad much, an assumption made evident by how much time he avoided his house in favor of ours during his high school years. Of course, people change, I remind myself. _Things _change.

My mother makes a disdainful face around the rim of her wine glass as she gulps down the last drops. Finally, she sets it down with a flourish and stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"I wonder why he's back?" she hums, fake smile wide and perfectly practiced.

The olives didn't take as long as I'd hoped, so I move on to perfecting the stack of napkins nearby. "I don't have any idea, Mom. You should have asked Esme."

I can feel her glare burning into the back of my head. It's a game we've been playing for over six years. The why-won't-you-just-admit-it game. It always goes exactly the same: she and my dad find some way to worm Edward's name into a conversation while I avoid the topic and ignore their insinuations. As does Emmett, upon penalty of death.

I never meant for the secrecy surrounding Ava's paternity to last this long. What started out as fear for Edward's safety from my father, became shame in being left pregnant and unwanted. After Ava was born, and it was clear that we were going to be a team of two, it just no longer seemed relevant. I didn't _need_ anything from him, I didn't _want_ anything from him.

Despite our stupid game, my parent's know Edward is Ava's father. You'd have to be blind not to notice how _little_ she looks like me and how _much_ she looks like him. That, coupled with how much time he spent at our house that summer, and my preoccupied mother had all the pieces put together by Ava's first birthday when her eyes were bright with Cullen green and her hair was long enough to show its sameness to Edward's copper.

It's sort of an unspoken secret now, aside from the name dropping and the guessing games. My mom and dad don't address it, but I can, obviously, sense their confusion and their disapproval at my unwillingness to talk about that summer.

"The nicest woman, that Esme Cullen," my mother says with an exaggerated sigh. "I'll never understand how she puts up with that pretentious husband of hers."

_Here we go._

"He ain't so bad, Ma," Emmett declares, striding into the room with Ava at his side. His voice cuts through the tension in the kitchen like a knife, making me straighten my shoulders and raise my head from its defeated droop. He reaches past me to grab an olive, then pops one in his mouth and one in Ava's. "For a lawyer," he snorts.

My mother stiffens and pulls her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. "I can just tell," she says haughtily. "I have a way with people."

"Mother, please," I nod my head toward Ava, a silent plea to change the subject on her behalf.

It's Emmett who comes to my rescue, as usual. "How long until supper?" he asks. "I think we need to get some bike practice in before we eat."

I smile graciously at him and nod my head. "Wear your helmet, Bug." I call as they make their way, hand in hand, their absence plunging the room back to tense and uncomfortable. My mother sighs heavily three times before she finally clears her throat to speak. I want to stop her before she's even begun, because experience tells me this can't end well.

She pretends to check the roast through the glass window on the front of the oven. Her reflection mocks me over her shoulder; brow tense, lips puckered in distaste. "You're going to have to tell her eventually, Isabella." she says with an air of frustration.

It's the first time we've ever directly addressed the proverbial elephant in the room and I'm taken aback by her sudden forwardness. "I know that," I say quietly, but not unkindly, fully aware that by not denying what she's said I'm admitting something huge.

Standing up and straightening her blouse, she turns to face me and I'm surprised to see a softness in her eyes. "She'll start asking questions soon. She'll want to know why she's different-"

"She's not _different,_" I interrupt, bristling.

"No, she's not," my mother says with a shake of her head. "But her family is. Emmett isn't her father, Bella. She's going to notice that role is unfilled eventually."

She's right, I _know_ she's right, but it doesn't make what she's saying any easier to swallow. Emmett has always been such an involved part of her life that she's likely assumed all kids had a mommy and an uncle living in their home.

I hide my fidgeting hands behind the dish rag I'm clutching. "I know," I say softly. "You're right."

She must sense my vulnerability, because she crosses the kitchen and comes to stand in front of me. I'm shocked when she hesitantly raises her hands to my shoulders, a gesture from her so intimate it's almost foreign. "And you need to tell _him_," she urges gently. "He should know."

The weight of her hands on me is so much that I'm afraid I'll crumble. I can't bear her touch and I can't meet her eye. The overwhelming feeling of shame at being rejected returns and wraps its arms around me like a wet blanket. It's doubly painful since it extends to cover Ava, too. It's been years since the anger replaced the shame, and to feel shame's return is physically crippling. My heart races, my heads sweat, my breathing intensifies.

It's on a wispy breath of shaky air that I tell her the secret that has wedged itself between us these past six years.

"He knows," I whisper. "He's known all along."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**-0-0-0-**

"Back again, hm?" I tease. If Edward Cullen and I were to have a "thing," this would be it. Every Thursday, he comes into the diner and bravely orders our special of the day, meatloaf. What started as legitimate exasperation at his reoccurring presence in my week, has now become playful banter. I'm not sure how that happened.

We've relaxed quite a bit around each other; me taking the hostile attitude down a notch and him upping the teasing and losing the sad eyes. Well, mostly. If I'm honest, I let myself forget our past too often. Ours is a new friendship, brittle and delicate, and it's easy for me to get lost in the happy feelings that getting to know someone evokes. Too easy.

To complicate matters further, I actually quite like this new, older Edward Cullen. He's confident without his former arrogance. He's playful and witty. He's considerate and aware. He's exactly the type of friend I'd choose, and if our pasts were not a factor, I'd pick him for sure.

But our past _is _a factor. She comes in the form of a silly six-year-old with his hair and my smile and she's very much something I can't overlook. I wouldn't want to.

"It's the food," he says with a shrug. "I can't stay away."

I snort and playfully slap a menu on his table. "Right."

He opens the stained folder and looks the menu over with exaggerated interest. "How was school?" he asks, without looking at me.

Resting a knee casually in the booth bench opposite him, I blow my bangs from my eyes. "The usual," I sigh. "You?"

"I'm not in school," he grins playfully.

I narrow my eyes at his teasing. "Work then, big shot. How was work?"

"Alright," he slouches in his seat and shrugs a shoulder. "As good as working with a bunch of lawyers can be, I guess."

"Don't _you_ want to be a lawyer?"

He rolls his head tiredly against the back of the booth. "Yeah. I think so."

"So...I don't get it," I shrug. "What's the problem?"

"My dad's not easy to work with. Or live with. Or..." he trails off in defeat. "Yeah."

I've actually never met Carlisle Cullen formally, just in passing when we were younger. He's nice. Too nice, really. The type of nice that seems practiced and forced, like he high-fives himself in the mirror at night.

"Are you living there?" I prod. "With him?"

Face flushing, he trips over his words. "Just temporarily," he says quickly. "Just until I can find a place."

Who am I to judge? I've only ever lived with my parents and Emmett. "I share a house with my brother," I remind him.

"That's different," he says quickly, the unspoken weight of the responsibilities that have kept me from independent living hanging thickly between us. "I swore I'd never go back after I moved out. I never wanted to end up like him. I used to promise myself I'd never treat my kids the way he-"

His eyes widen as he realizes what he's said. We've only ever discussed Ava directly. How she's doing, what she's doing. We've never referred to her as _Edward__'__s_ kid or child or daughter. Those words are too powerful and they mean too much to be used by someone who isn't even a part of her life.

I can tell he feels bad and I feel compelled to excuse him. Our new relationship allows for such leniences.

Smiling slightly to let him know I'm not upset, I forge ahead. "What makes you think you're like him?" I ask, redirecting us back to his father.

"Similarities," he says with a shrug. "He's an ass, I'm an ass. He's a lawyer, I'm a lawyer. Or I will be," he corrects. "Eventually."

I chew my lip and study him through narrowed eyes as I ponder what he's said. Finally, I blow my breath out with exaggerated slowness. "That's true," I say, with a nod. "You are an ass."

"Hey!" he shouts. But he's grinning.

-0-0-0-

We don't talk aside from our weird little meetings over his dinner at the restaurant where I work. It'd be too much, I think. We're fragile, and upsetting the balance we've managed to achieve would surely be our demise.

My nights are my own; just me and my girl. There's little time or space for me to think about much beyond loving, nurturing, tending to Ava. I've wondered, on occasion, what he does when he's not bravely sampling the menu from a sticky booth seat or working with his dad. I no longer know his interests or who his friends are. I don't think he hangs out with Emmett, but I doubt I'd know it if he did. Emmett's not around much, except for the time he spends with Ava, and he's sleeping over at Rose's almost every night these days.

So when my phone pings with a new text notification a few nights later, in the middle of a dual homework session between Ava and me, I'm a bit shocked to see that it's from Edward.

**Found an apartment today. Finally.**

I praise Ava's coloring progress as I peck out a reply.

**Success! Happy to hear it. When****'****s the big day?**

Leaving it simple feels right. I'm shocked he's taken steps to talk to me outside of our diner dates-scratch that-diner _meetings_, so I'm certainly not going to start nosing around in his business by asking him where the place is or whether or not he's living there alone.

**Not for another few weeks. Think I could get a female opinion on some furniture and stuff?**

"Look, Mama!" Ava waves her paper in front of my face proudly. "I made a pattern!" I grin at her hard work and hold my hand out for a high-five. "You sure did," I say as I slap her small, upturned palm. "See if you can do another one?"

She turns back to her work, tiny pink tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

**I****'****m sure you probably could. ** I type. **You****'****re smart. You****'****re going to be a lawyer! **

His reply is instant. **Smartass. **And then, **Think I could get YOUR female opinion on some furniture and stuff?**

My homework apparently forgotten, I chew on the end of my pencil as I contemplate what he's asking me. How would this work? How could I possibly help him pick out furniture for his new place without being there? Seeing it. Riding in his car. Walking beside him in the store.

It's way too personal. Far too intimate. I'm glad he feels comfortable with me, I feel comfortable with him too, but this? This feels dangerous.

**I don'****t know, Edward. I****'****m with Ava when I****'****m not working or at school...I doubt I****'****d have time. **

While true, it's a lame excuse. In reality I'm just not sure how comfortable I am taking our...relationship...to the hanging-out-outside-of-the-diner level. Because, we can laugh and joke and re-introduce ourselves by way of lighthearted conversations and flirty teashing, but there's history here. Big history. And, despite the fact that I sometimes want to, I can't forget the old Edward and let the new one erase his past. _ Our _past.

His response comes hours later, after I've bathed Ava and held her damp head against my chest while I read her to sleep.

**Bring her with you. Please.**

-0-0-0-

I never responded to the last text message he sent, asking me to bring Ava along to help him pick out furniture for his new place. The absurdity! Yeah, sure. I'll bring your daughter, who you've never met, along with me to meet her dad for the first time as I pretend to play the role of a doting girlfriend helping you fix up your apartment. Not.

So I avoided it. I turned my phone off for the rest of the week and the ball of anxiety in my belly grew and grew as I inched closer to Meatloaf Thursday. Edward's favorite.

Sure enough, I've hardly finished tying the strings on my apron when I see his familiar form pass through the diner door and slide into his usual booth in the back. I watch him for a moment as I pretend to adjust my name tag. His gait no longer seems cocky to me. He exudes grace and confidence now. The way he folds his suit jacket had once seemed obnoxiously arrogant, but now I admire his responsibility and care. I no longer assume his tired eyes are the product of too many parties and too many nights doing...who knows what...or _who_...besides sleeping. I now know he works hard during the day and carries his stress on his face, in his eyes.

I palm my order pad and grip it tightly to steady my hands while I make my way to the back corner of the restaurant.

"Can't get enough of the meatloaf?" It was supposed to be an attempt at our usual, playful greeting, but I forget to smile and my soft voice shakes slightly on the last word.

Edward smiles politely, but his eyes look sad again. A look that, I now realize, I haven't seen on his face in a long time.

"You never answered my text," he says quietly, fingers absently rolling the peeling laminate on the corner of his menu.

I wasn't expecting him to be so direct and, at the weight of it, I crumple helplessly into the booth bench across from him.

"No," I whisper, "I didn't."

The smooth, lightly tanned skin on his forehead wrinkles slightly as he furrows his eyebrows and lifts his head to look at me. "Too much?" he asks, eyes flickering back and forth between mine.

I owe it to myself to be honest with him. "A little."

His face looks sad, but not surprised. "I figured," he says, nodding. He takes a deep breath and stares at me for a long time, his mouth opening and closing as though he wants to speak. Patiently, I wait. Just when the silence is bordering on uncomfortable, he exhales through his nose and then speaks quietly. "I really like being around you, Bella," he says.

"I like being around you too, Edward." And it's true. I really do. "But I can't be the young, carefree girl without responsibilities that you're probably looking for. That you're probably used to. I haven't been that girl since I was sixteen," I say.

"That's not who I expect you to be," he snaps. He's never really lost his patience, and his reaction startles me. He's always so light hearted and silly. I hate that I'm the cause of his exasperation and, likely, the cause of his tired eyes, but I can't jeopardize myself, my feelings, to protect his.

I place my hands calmly, palms down, on top of his as a sign of peace. "Okay, fair enough. Maybe that's not what you expect, but it's what you're projecting when you ask me to bring Ava along-to see you for the first time in her life-while we're looking at furniture for your new apartment."

His hands are warm and rough and shake slightly underneath mine. "I want to meet her, Bella," he says. "I want to meet her, and I want to be around you. Why is that such a big deal?"

My heart hurts for him in that moment. I can see, from his prospective, how easy it is to declare his willingness to open up his life to his daughter-and to me, the mother of his child-after all this time. He's finally reached a place where he's ready to welcome us and the enormous titles that we carry as a part of who he wants to be in the future and I'm not allowing him easy access. I _can__'__t _allow him easy access.

"It's a big deal, Edward, because she's a little girl. She's pure and innocent and she deserves to hold on to that for as long as she can." I squeeze his fisted hand tightly to lighten the upcoming blow. "I won't let her know the pain of being forgotten. Unwanted. I have to protect her from that. I'm her mother."

He pulls his hands back from mine and drops them into his lap. I've hurt him with my words, and I hate myself for that. I know how it feels to be dealt a blow you don't understand and aren't prepared for.

"Besides," I say, attempting to lighten the mood. "Rose picked out our furniture, so I doubt my _female opinion_ would do you much good, anyway."

Edward completely ignores me and leans across the table until we were nearly face to face. His eyes flash between mine and I can feel the heat radiating from his flushed face.

"Listen to me, Bella." he demands lowly, his words heavy with fierce determination. He waits until he has my full attention in the form of stillness and unbroken eye contact before he continues. "I'd never do that to her. Not again. I swear it."

But what about me?

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**-0-0-0-**

Rose's birthday falls on the first weekend of Ava's and my Spring Break. I let Emmett convince me to let Ava stay the night at my parents' house on Saturday so that I can go out to dinner with Rose and her brother's girlfriend, Alice, to celebrate. It's not often that I get an evening out with food that doesn't include a kid's menu and crayons, and I'm looking forward to the adult time.

Emmett and I drive Ava over to our parents' that evening, where he'll stay for a family dinner before he heads out to do...whatever it is that guys do when their girlfriends aren't around. Which, when it comes to Emmett, is probably something I'd rather not know. He's gross, and once, in high school, I caught him looking at nun porn. Like, slutty blond chicks dressed in habits and getting nailed _on _the cross. Our relationship is of the don't ask, don't tell variety.

Leaving Ava with my parents isn't something I typically do unless I absolutely have to. My mother takes spoiling to an extreme level, which means loading Ava up on red dye #40 and high-fructose corn syrup. After dosing her up with sweets, she'll hand her over to me the following morning so that I can suffer the wrath of her sugar crash. "It's the perks of being a grandmother," she tells me when I complain.

Ava's already gnawing on a Fruit Roll-Up, and I'm not even out the door yet. "Mother," I say in exasperation. "Really?"

She blows a raspberry at Ava, who's sitting on the counter watching her chop carrots, and Ava giggles crazily. It's already begun.

So on that note... "Welp," I say, withholding an eye-roll. "I'm going to take off. I still have to go home and get ready."

I kiss Ava's tiny nose—my favorite—and whisper in her ear. "Be sweet," I say.

"I always am, Mommy," she says demurely, but I swear I can already see a hint of red-dye-crazy in her eyes.

I wave to my dad and mess up Emmett's hair on my way through the family room. "I'll pick her up around nine tomorrow," I call, letting the door slap shut behind me.

-0-0-0-

Rose's car is already in my driveway when I turn onto my street, and I find her in my bathroom, spreading various cases and pots and tubes out across the already cluttered counter top.

"Allie should be here any minute," she says, in lieu of a greeting. "She's bringing you some clothes; thank god."

"Hey!" I protest. "My clothes are fine." I'm wearing my favorite Old Navy jeans and a cotton, fitted Target shirt. I dressed up today in celebration of not having to go to school for an entire week, thank you very much.

Rose snorts and commands me to "get my ass in the shower."

"Geez," I mutter. I strip down and turn on the shower, sticking a hand behind the glass door to test the water. "Bossy."

I hear Rose laughing while I'm washing my hair, which must mean Alice has arrived. Alice has been dating Rose's brother, Jasper, for a few years now and I know her fairly well. She lives on the other side of town and goes to school full-time, like me. We don't see each other often, which saddens me. I like her a lot.

"Wait until you see what I brought you, Birdie," she calls to me over the shower door. I turn the water off and grab my towel from the hook on the wall. "I'm not sure I want to know," I mutter, stepping out and drying off.

She pulls me into a tight hug, which, under normal circumstances, might freak me out a bit, being that I'm slightly wet and covered in only a towel, but Allie's like that with everyone. I hug her back just as tightly. I've missed her.

I follow her into my bedroom where, apparently, a bomb has exploded. My bed is covered in clothes and the floor around it is littered with shoes. Not just shoes..._heels._

I grab the nearest recognizable article of clothing-my pajama pants-and pull them up under my towel. "I can't walk in heels, Allie. And it's just dinner. I hope those aren't for me," I say, nodding toward the pile of stilettos at the foot of my bed.

"Bella. Baby," she says, placatingly. She smiles at me like I'm a child. "You can. And you will." She disappears into the bathroom with Rose and I'm able to put my shirt on in peace.

It is with extreme caution that I join them in the bathroom. "No glitter," I say, sitting down on the little stool they've pulled up next to the counter for me. They're a force to be reckoned with, these two. Rose starts on my hair while Alice does my makeup, and they're completely entranced, not speaking at all except to hush me when I let an errant "ow!" slip through.

Sometime later, still having not said one word to each other, they stop simultaneously, slap hands in a high-five over my head, and stand back with their arms folded to give me a final once-over.

"Am I done?" I ask hesitantly.

Rose grins at me. "With that part," she says. "Want to see?"

I do, but I'm afraid. I don't wear very much makeup normally, and even just the smallest amount of eyeliner makes me feel like a wild raccoon when I look in the mirror.

Not surprisingly, they've outdone themselves. I grin at my reflection and see their smiles mirrored back. "You guys," I breathe. "You're amazing."

"You make it easy, Birdie," Rose says, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think she was right.

They've taken me from plain to beautiful; from naive to sexy. My skin is smooth and flawless; my eyes smoky and dark-lidded, and my lashes are long and lush. It's just right. I feel beautiful.

"Now the fun part," Alice says, pulling me into the bedroom. "Strip."

"I'm not taking my clothes off and standing around naked, Alice." I hold my hand out and wave my fingers impatiently. "Hand me what you want me to wear, and _then _I'll strip."

She manages to make sense of the mess on the bed and pulls out two pieces, a skirt and a shirt, before thrusting them at me. The shirt is small. The skirt is a napkin.

"These look like they could fit Ava," I moan, holding them out as if they are diseased.

"They probably could," Alice says, dismissively. "They'll make your legs look great, though. You have amazing legs."

"Make them look great for who?" I shout. "I'm going to dinner with you and Rose!"

"Birdie, please. Get a grip," Rose speaks up from the other side of the room. I spin around to tell her where she can shove her _grip_, but she's changed clothes and her absolute perfection leaves the words unused on my tongue. Tall and thin, the epitome of female sexuality, she is stunning. "You look amazing, Rosie," I say. "What on earth are you doing with my brother?"

She laughs out loud and comes closer, pushing my outstretched hands back toward me, the clothes I hold balling into a heap at my belly. "Get dressed," she says softly. "You deserve this."

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

My mom and dad are away on one of their weekend camping trips, and Emmett and I have the house to ourselves. I've spent all day in my room reading, hoping to finish the required reading list for my AP English class before school starts in the fall. Aside from a few quick trips to the bathroom and kitchen, I haven't left my room at all.

The sun has already gone down when I finally put my reading aside for the day. Like our entire second story, my room is practically a sauna during summer months. My comforter had been folded up and stored in the closet months ago, leaving my bed wrapped in only lightweight sheets. Even sheets were too much on these hot, Texas nights. I turn my fan on and angle it to blow directly on my face. I change into a cami and a pair of sleep shorts, and grab a book. It feels good to read something for pleasure after having read for school all day.

I have my feet up on the wall and my hair splayed out on my pillow when I first hear the soft _tap-tap-tap_ at my door. I assume it's Emmett, coming to start shit with me, so I ignore it and hope he'll go away.

_Tap-tap-tap._

"What," I whine. "What do you want?"

The door slowly creaks open and Edward pokes his head inside. The fan hits the sweat on the back of my neck, and my entire body lights up with goosebumps. "Hey," he whispers. "Can I come in?"

I'd never had a boy in my room before, but I nod dumbly, and he slides inside and closes the door softly behind him.

"Jesus, it's hot," he says quietly, fanning himself with his shirt. He stands awkwardly in the middle of my room and turns in a slow circle, taking everything in.

I haven't moved an inch. Completely frozen in disbelief, I'm unable to come to terms with the fact that he was in my room. Edward Cullen! In my room! Where I lived! He walks to my desk and runs his hand over the stuffed bird my dad gave me for my ninth birthday.

"What're you doing here?" I whisper frantically, suddenly finding my both my voice and my senses. "Where's Emmett?"

"He's with Jess," he says, pausing to look at me. "In his room."

"Ugh," I moan. "Gross."

He gives me a shrug and laughs. "You asked."

His eyes flicker from my face, to my chest, and back again. I'd walked around in my bathing suit in front of Edward all summer, but sitting here in my sleep tank and shorts, I felt completely exposed. I grip the sheet and pull it tightly to my chin.

"Where's Lauren?" I ask, not a little bitterly.

He nods toward the empty end of my bed, asking silent permission to sit down. I wave my hand out in some type of elaborate, grand gesture and immediately feel like an idiot.

"Don't know." He shrugs his shoulders as he sits, and then leans his back against my wall, kicking his legs out straight so that his crossed feet are hanging off the side of my bed.

"Well she's probably looking for you," I snap...and instantly regret it when I hear how immature and dumb I sound.

He ignores me and continues his perusal of my room from his spot on my bed. The way he's sitting puts his thigh only a few inches from my foot. I don't move a muscle; I'm barely breathing.

"You have stars on your ceiling." He smiles as he says it, and I can't help the blush that rises to my cheeks.

"Em helped me put them up. They're accurate depictions of the constellations," I say proudly. My brother and I spent hours mapping them out and sticking them up.

I fully expect him to make fun of me, but he doesn't say anything at all. He grins and grabs my foot, giving it a yank. I slide down the bed towards him; the sheet stays behind. He runs his hand from my ankle to my knee in smooth strokes and stares at me contemplatively.

"What do you think about when you sleep under these stars?" he whispers. His eyes flicker, heavy lidded, back and forth between my lips and my leg, where his hand has traveled past my knee and is now smoothing circles on my inner thy.

"Nothing," I lie.

And then he's kissing me. His chin is rough with stubble, and his breath smells like beer, but I don't care. He's warm, and his lips are firm, a direct contradiction to the hand he's rubbing softly up my thigh.

He pulls away first, his pupils large, and his eyelids nearly close with heaviness. He smiles lazily at me and squeezes my thigh once before moving his hand away. "I'd better go," he says. "Emmett's probably looking for me."

I don't move from my spot on the bed as I watch him stand up. He adjusts his pants, and I look away, blushing fiercely. He leans over me and runs his hand from the top of my head to the side of my neck, and then he kisses me so sweetly it hurts.

**.**

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

The three of us walk through the door of Hanasho's an hour later, Rose and Alice striding gracefully, me teetering behind them in the first pair of four inch heels I've ever worn.

I feel good, but also insecure in the knowledge that I'm showing more skin than I've likely ever shown before.

We're led to a small table in the back of the restaurant where the lighting is darker and the music is low. Our corner seat helps cast our evening in an intimate light, and I'm momentarily taken aback by how glad I am to be here, in this moment, with these girls.

Alice and I sit opposite Rose, who promptly orders a round of drinks and a plate of shrimp tempura for us.

I scan the menu as our drinks arrive. "What's good here?" I ask them both. "I've never eaten here before."

"You've never been here, Birdie?" Alice looks shocked. "It's the only decent restaurant in town! Where've you been eating all this time?"

I certainly don't bring my six-year-old to eat sushi, and I tell her so. "I don't know. Applebee's? It's Ava's favorite..." I trail off. Alice is looking at me with wide eyes. I know I sound like a reclusive bumpkin, but I've chosen this quiet homebody life, and I'm happy in it. I missed out on a lot of experiences when I was raising a baby and delaying college, and sometimes I forget that a social life is a common thing for most people.

"Ease up, Alice," Rose says, smiling at me. "Bella's been a little busy. Which is why it's so great that she's here tonight."

Alice raises her glass. "Cheers to that," she declares. "And to Rosie, the birthday girl, hope this year is your best one yet."

We tap our glasses softly with each other, and I bring mine to my mouth for a sip. The sweetness cuts the sharpness of the alcohol, but even still, I make a mental note to drink slowly. I'm not used to anything like this, and when paired with my heels, adding alcohol to this night could make it an embarrassing one.

Our appetizers arrive, and Alice and Rose were right; they're delicious. I give my menu another go, but drop it in defeat after a few minutes.

"Just order for me," I say dramatically. "Otherwise I'm getting a California roll."

"Oh dear Lord, Bella. No." Alice says, in horror. "You can't come here and order a California roll. That's disgraceful."

Rose and I giggle at the look on her face. "We'll get you something, Birdie. Trust us," Rose says, winking at me.

I lift my glass to my lips and smile at her around its edge. Over her shoulder, I watch as the restaurant hostess leads a tall, leggy blond in the direction of a table near our corner. Walking as though she's on a runway, the blond navigates her heels like a pro. Her expensive looking dress fits her like a glove. The hostess steps to the side and behind the blond, hand slung low on the back of her hip, is Edward Cullen.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**-0-0-0-**

I'm completely shocked to see him here with his...date. Not because I assumed he didn't date; on the contrary, actually. Guys like Edward Cullen can't _not _date. I never for one minute assumed he'd spent the past seven years celibate, mourning the loss of the summer fling he'd knocked up. I'm not dumb. Not anymore.

My shock has more to do with my reaction to seeing him. My hands start sweating, and my stomach rolls in waves as I watch them together. His hand on her hip hurts my heart and I hate him for that. I hate that I care who he touches. I hate that he still matters to me.

He finally notices me when Leggy Blond moves toward their table. A look of confusion clouds his face as he stares at me, and confusion quickly turns to horror. He's finally recognized me, and I wonder briefly if maybe my overdone makeup and hair threw him off. I watch as his color drains, and his hand falls limply to his side.

The shocked look on my face must finally register with Rose, because she chooses that moment to call my name.

"Birdie?" She glances at Alice in confusion, then sits up straight and turns to look behind her. "What's wrong?"

With the three of us staring at him, Edward has no choice but to play the role of a gentlemen and come say hello. He pulls Leggy Blond's chair out for her and waits until she slides seductively into her seat before he bends down to whisper in her ear. He nods toward our table and she gives him a tight lipped smile.

"Bella?" Rose snaps. "What the hell is going-"

"Hi, Bella," Edward's voice sounds hoarse, and he clears his throat before starting again. "What're you doing here?"

He's standing beside our table, hands folded neatly in the pockets of his pants, the picture of complete ease. I can read him well enough these days to know he's anything but.

He looks amazing, I'll give him that. I'm used to seeing him in a suit, which, admittedly, is a pretty incredible thing. But the jeans he's wearing fit him perfectly, and his cotton shirt makes him look young, like the boy I remember. I'm suddenly so overcome with nostalgia for him that it hurts to breathe.

Rose and Alice are looking back and forth between the two of us with wide, curious eyes. Rose flicks her head in his direction and mouths _You know him?_

I tug lightly at the low cut top I'm wearing, all too aware of how the ample cleavage I'm not used to sharing is currently spilling out the front. I press my cold hand to my flushed neck and leave it there; a shield of sorts.

"Edward," I smile politely, like this absurd situation is completely normal for me. "What a surprise."

Rose lets forth an audible gasp, but Alice remains confused, looking back and forth between the three of us.

"Edward...?" she smiles sweetly, waiting for him to finish the introduction. This is going nowhere, fast. I have no idea how he'll describe himself to Alice: My baby daddy? Former fling? Ex-boyfriend? I intervene before he has the chance.

"Edward," I say, looking at him directly for the first time. "These are my friends Rose and Alice. And this is...um, this is my brother's childhood friend, Edward Cullen."

The connection registers with Alice and she slaps her hand to her mouth, covering her sharp intake of breath.

Edward extends his hand politely and shakes both of theirs. "Nice to meet you both," he says. Then to Rose, "I've heard a lot about you."

"Likewise," she says, sourly.

Edward's smile falters and I almost feel bad for him. Almost. "Bella," he says. "Can I talk to you privately?"

Alice and Rose gape at me as I drop my napkin on the table and rise to meet him. "Okay," I say, leading us back toward the front of the restaurant. The bar area is fairly crowded, but it's quiet and there are several empty bar-top tables off to one side. I steer us toward them.

Stopping at the table, I turn to face Edward, raising my eyebrows expectantly. With my heels we're much closer in height, and I can almost look him directly in the eye.

"You look amazing," he says quietly.

"Oh, gross, Edward," I scoff. "You're on a date. You can't hit on me while your date's waiting back at the table."

"I'm not-," he starts, then stops and tugs harshly at his hair.

He tries again. "She's just...fuck. It's...It's not like that, okay?" He looks at me helplessly, as if he's waiting for me to excuse him or give him my blessing.

I laugh somewhat crazily. "It's absolutely none of my business, Edward. Who you're here with? It has nothing to do with me."

"It does," he says quietly. "I don't want you to hate me."

"I couldn't care less," I lie. "You don't owe me anything. We're not together. We're not—we're nothing."

I shrug casually and smile at him when I'm done, because if I don't, I'll cry.

"If we're finished here, I'd like to get back to my table," I say. "It's Rose's birthday."

His cheeks are red and he blinks a few times before giving me a sullen nod.

"Great." I squeeze his shoulder. "I'll see you around, okay?"

Turning on my heel, I walk back to my table and leave Edward standing alone.

**-0-0-0-**

"Bella," Alice breathes when I return to our table. "Ava looks just like him."

I slide back into my chair and smile to let them know I'm okay. "Tell me about it," I mutter. Over Rose's shoulder, Leggy Blond scrolls through her phone with exaggerated interest. It's only a few moments before Edward walks back through the room and takes his seat across from her. I try not to look.

"Birdie?" Rose says softly. "Do you want to leave?"

It's taking everything I have to sit in this room, watching him as if we're strangers. I feel terrible for ruining Rose's birthday, but I nod my head miserably. "So much," I whisper.

Rose and Alice spring into action. Before I can even second guess myself, our bill is paid, our bags are grabbed, and we're heading toward the door.

I don't look back.

**-0-0-0-**

I pick Ava up early the next morning, around eight. She's surprisingly calm and sweet—despite my mother's indulgences—and she's exactly what I need. I still feel horrible about the way we ended up celebrating Rose's birthday last night—eating powdered donuts and watching bad television from the comfort of my couch—and all I want is to spend the day alone with my girl with my brain set to 'off'.

We stop by the grocery store on our way home to get the ingredients for homemade pizza. It's Ava's favorite and Emmett's too, and I'm hoping I can use it as leverage so that he and Rose will join us for dinner later. It's the least I can do.

I'm unloading groceries while Ava sits perched on the kitchen counter eating a banana. "Did you have fun last night, Bug?" I ask her.

"Oh yeah," she answers, mouth full. Opening the refrigerator door, I begin moving items around to make room for today's purchases. If I'm crafty, I can squeeze several meals out of everything we have.

"What about you?" She swallows and tears off another huge bite. "Did you have fun with Auntie Rose and Alice?"

A loaded question, that one, but I answer her honestly. "I did." While the night took a weird turn, I was still happy to be spending time with my friends.

"What'd you do?" she quizzes. She'd never admit it, but I think it makes her sad when I do things things without her. I know we need time away from each other on occasion, but it makes me sad too.

I nudge the fridge door with my hip and it slaps shut behind me. "We went to a fancy restaurant and ate sushi," I say, dramatically.

Her tiny nose wrinkles up in confusion. "Sushi?" she says. "What's _that_?"

"It's raw fish, Bug." I tickle her neck and she squeals. "It can't be macaroni and cheese all the time around here."

My phone chirps from its place in my purse on the counter, and I grab it without even thinking about who it might be.

There's one text, from Edward, and it's short and to the point.

**Can we talk?**

I rub my eyes tiredly and consider his question. The amount of work it takes to have a relationship with Edward—even a simple friendship—is enough to completely exhaust me.

I opt for casual nonchalance. **Sure. What's up?**

Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I focus my attention back on Ava. "So what'll it be tonight? Cheese or pepperoni?" I ask.

Her little face screws up in disgust. "Cheese only! I'm a vegetarian, remember?"

I fight to control my smile and lift her from the counter, setting her back on her feet. "Oh, right. That hotdog you had yesterday made me wonder if you'd changed your mind."

"It's one of my exceptions," she says, shrugging. "I allow myself five."

"I see," I say, the picture of complete seriousness. "Why don't you go unpack your bags and I'll call Uncle Emmett and tell him our plans."

She tosses her banana peel in the trash and skips off to her bedroom. The moment she's gone, my phone is back in my hand and I'm scrolling through the lock screen to check for new texts. I'm not proud of my eagerness.

Sure enough, my screen lights up with Edward's message. **Last night felt weird. I feel like I need to explain...**

Last night _did _feel weird, I'll give him that, but Edward doesn't technically owe me any explanations. I'm not his girlfriend. I'm not even his casual hook-up or fling. We're so much more and so much less, and the confusion surrounding our...friendship is more than I can make sense of.

**No explanation needed. It's a small town...we're likely to run into each other. You don't have to explain anything. **

I chip the polish off my thumbnail with my teeth as I debate sending my message. I'm desperate for Edward to see that I've changed, moved on, grown up, and his actions no longer affect me the way that they used to. It's pathetic, even to me, how quickly I've opened myself up to him.

Pressing send, I shove my phone in a drawer where I won't be tempted to check it and pick up the home phone to call my brother. I've got a pizza date to plan.

**-0-0-0-**

I'm surprised to see Edward seated in his usual booth during my shift at the diner on Monday. It's cubed steak night, and he's not usually around for that. I used to wonder how he spent his evenings when he wasn't eating at the diner, but after seeing him out with Leggy Blond this weekend, I've decided I'd probably rather not know.

There's an awkward tension between us as I approach his table. Things have rarely been completely smooth, but it's always been the tense result of him pushing too hard and me attempting to maintain some distance between us, for the sake of my daughter and myself. Today's awkwardness is new—the result of him feeling guilty, I'd guess, and me feeling annoyed about how there's not _technically_ anything for him to feel guilty about.

Our greeting is just as stilted as the air around us. "Hello," I say, with the same type of casual indifference I normally give my customers. "What can I get you today?"

He's annoyed. I can tell as soon as I see his face. There are several missed text messages on my phone that I'd intentionally left unopened over the weekend and, after seeing the scowl on his face, I'm wondering if I took my attempted indifference too far by ignoring him.

His menu is unopened, and he stares at me with scrutiny, chewing with concentrated effort on his bottom lip. "It's going to be like that, huh?" he says.

My careful facade slips momentarily, but I manage to pull it back together. The picture of indifference, I shrug my shoulders. "Like what?"

He leans back in his seat and looks at me through narrowed eyes for longer than I'm comfortable with, and I fidget under his intense gaze. I recognize the look of heated determination the moment it moves across his face.

"This is such bullshit, Bella!" he slaps a hand down loudly on the sticky formica top. "Stop playing games with me!"

All the progress that we've made as friends, and all the maturity I _thought_ I'd gained in his absence leaves the room on the tails of the _woosh _that falls from my gaping mouth.

"Games?" I question. Then again, louder. "Games! Are you kidding me, Edward Cullen? I am _not_ playing games!"

His cheeks glow pink and his fist stays balled on the tabletop. "This back and forth shit is driving me crazy. One day you're normal, and the next you act like we've never even met!"

It takes a strong effort on my part to remember that I am, in fact, working. It is not a good idea for me to cause a scene.

"Oh, please," I cry, rolling my eyes in exasperation. "There's no back and forth here, Edward." I wave my hand between the two of us. "You're pissed that I wasn't falling all over myself when I saw you wining and dining your latest bimbo."

He glares at me, and the sharp curves in his jaw twitch and jump. I'm not done yet, though.

"Well guess what?" I continue, too far gone to care. "You can fuck all of Texas for all I care! Just don't come crying to me when you've knocked up some other poor, stupid girl and left her—alone—to raise a child you want nothing to do with!"

I realize I've taken it too far as soon as the words leave my mouth. I've completely contradicted myself by turning this tirade personal and hitting below the belt. I'm bigger than this, and I'm not out to retaliate or to make Edward suffer for his past indiscretions. Despite my confused feelings toward him, I'm sickened to think I've intentionally hurt him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, tears pushing at the corners of my lids. "I didn't mean that."

Edward's face is flushed an unhealthy shade of red, and his lips are pressed tightly into a straight line. It's his eyes that are my undoing, though. They're wide and remorseful and wounded. My own release the tears they've been holding back, and they spill freely down my cheeks.

I lay my hand on Edward's arm as he slides out of the booth and grabs his jacket off the back of the bench seat. "Please, wait..." I beg, and for once I don't hate the way it feels to ask him to stay.

He shrugs gently from my grip and walks out the diner door without a second glance.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading. <strong>


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I've spent the past few months slowly reworking (and in some cases, rewriting) previous chapters in this story. I was struggling with the way I wrote/planned things, and I just couldn't get motivated to write anything new until I'd fixed those prior bugs. Regardless, thanks for your patience.

A quick reread is probably warranted, though, because a) It's been a hellova long time, and b) I changed shit.

Here we go, then. Yeah?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

**-0-0-0-**

I'm uncomfortable standing here, and I wonder briefly if this is what Edward must feel like; taking the first step, making the first move, feeling vulnerable.

I ring the doorbell once and follow its chimes with a series of rapid-fire knocks. The tale-tell sounds of scuffling coming from behind the door make it obvious someone is home. I'm no fool; this has _bad idea _written all over it. I've never been to Edward's house—condo, rather—and I would certainly never have thought that my first time would put me standing, uninvited, on his front stoop at ten o'clock in the evening.

After putting Ava to bed a few hours ago, I'd chewed my nails to the quick while mentally replaying my fight with Edward. On a whim, I'd decided that I wouldn't be able to sleep without properly apologizing for my outburst, and I set out to find his address. Rose had tried—and failed— to talk some sense into me, but I could not..._would _not be deterred. The rest, as they say, is history.

And so here I stand.

The door swings open suddenly and, although I was obviously waiting for a similar occurrence, I'm startled and lunge backward.

Edward stands in the space between his door and its frame. Rumpled and wary, he eyes me hesitantly.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, and his hand leaves the door to tug self-consciously at his hair. "Bella," he says. "What're you doing here?"

"Hi," I say stupidly, shrugging. "I wanted to come by and apologize for the way I acted earlier."

The door opens wider and Edward steps toward me, one hand resting against the back of his neck, the other folded across his chest. "_You _want to apologize? To _me?" _He barks out a laugh and shrugs his shoulders. "What for?" He sounds perplexed, and a look of complete confusion overrides the tiredness of his features.

"I don't really know," I begin, because I figure it's the truth or nothing at all moving forward, and—truth be told—I really _don't _know why it bothers me that I insulted him or hurt his feelings. I'm hoping to figure that part out myself. "Because I was intentionally hurtful, I guess."

"Bella, no," he closes his eyes briefly. "You don't owe me an apology." He seems to realize at that moment that he's still inside the condo and I'm still on the front porch, because he steps aside and holds the door back for me. "Please," he says softly, "come in."

Stepping cautiously past him and into his entry way, I'm overcome by the intoxicating smell of him, and my heart squeezes bittersweetly at his familiar and comforting scent.

He leads me through a sparse entryway and into a family room where a television screen on the largest wall flashes with bright colors, and a low, muffled voice filters through two small speakers sitting on bookcases flanking a cozy fireplace.

A plush, tan couch faces the television, and a book-covered ottoman is pulled haphazardly toward it. The walls are blank, mostly, but the room has the same familiar feeling of warmth and comfort that Edward exudes, leading me to wonder if Edward himself is responsible for bringing this feeling into the room, or if it's just the decor.

"Wait a minute." I pause mid-step behind the couch and nod toward the T.V. "Is that...? Are you watching Crocodile Hunter?"

He gapes at me appallingly. "That is most certainly _not _Crocodile Hunter," he says, walking toward the ottoman and grabbing a large remote control. He presses a button and the picture pauses, the skewed face of a khaki-clad man in the middle of a jungle standing frozen on the screen. "_That _is Jeff Corwin. He's legit. Steve Irwin was...not."

"Right," I say, chuckling. He's surprisingly passionate about his men in khaki, and I can't help but notice how very..._human_ he seems in this moment, wearing only a white undershirt and a pair of gym shorts. My favorite moments with him, I'm realizing, are when his guard is down and he's a softer, less guarded version of himself.

Edward tosses the remote back on the ottoman and throws himself down on the couch, his head leaning against its back, his legs spread out comfortably wide. "Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the connecting chaise lounge on his right.

I walk around the back of the couch and sit tentatively, keeping my back straight and both feet on the floor.

"So," he says, once I'm settled. He raises his eyebrows and waits for me to elaborate as to why I'm here, no doubt.

Not really understanding my reasons for this visit myself, I'm stuck wondering if this might have been a bad idea. Edward waits patiently while the thoughts in my head flitter back and forth between leaving—having said nothing at all—and laying everything out on the table.

I choose the latter.

"So," I say, and take a deep, cleansing breath. "I'm just going to say what I'm thinking, because, like you, I'm tired of all the back and forth stuff."

We stare at each other beneath the soft glow of the lamp in the corner of the room until I break his gaze to examine my nails with unnecessary concentration. "Because...I mean...I think you're really great, Edward," I say, glancing up quickly to catch his intense gaze. "The new you, that is. The old one...not so much." The tension is immediately lessened when we both laugh comfortably.

I relax a bit and lean back against the cushions, pulling one leg up and wrapping my arms around it.

Sitting forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and rolls his hands as if to say _move it along. _"But..."

"Yes, _but_," I say, matching his tone. "I'm not really sure what your goal is here," I finish, waving my hands between the two of us.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and I blunder on in an attempt to lessen the amount of awkward silence between us. "I mean, we're friends, obviously...and I really enjoy being around you...but friends don't get all weird when they run into each other while they're on a date," I say softly. "With someone else."

His cheeks flush at the realization that I'm talking about his reaction to seeing me at the restaurant a few nights ago. "Right," he replies with a small grimace. "I'm sorry about that."

"Please don't be sorry, Edward," I say, leaning toward where he's now perched on the edge of his seat. "I'm not looking for an apology. Not at all. I just want to figure this out so we can move forward together..." I pause, embarrassed by the implications of what I've just said. "...or whatever. Drama free."

He's always such an intense listener—a trait of his I really admire—and now is no exception. I'm completely taken aback when he suddenly clasps his hands and gives his shoulders a relaxed shrug. "Drama free is good. I can do that," he says, smiling gently. He takes a deep breath and glances at me warily, as if he's worried about how I'll handle what he's about to say. Immediately, my palms start to sweat and my stomach begins to flutter.

"It's pretty simple, for me," he begins. "I want to be in your life. I want a chance to know Ava, make up for all the time I've missed with her. With you. I want a chance to prove to you—to _myself—_that I'm a better person than I was at eighteen."

Eyeing me somewhat apprehensively, he shrugs as if to indicate that's really all there is to it.

"You're proving yourself all the time, Edward," I say, and he looks somewhat mollified. "But, these things take time. Lots of time, in my case. It's so important to me that I protect...our daughter." It's the first time I've called her ours in front of him, and I'm surprised how easy it feels and how good it feels to say it. If the way the corners of his mouth turn up is any indication, I think he likes it too.

"I understand," he says hesitantly, his small smile replaced by a look of concentration. "But, just..." He frowns as he looks down at his hands, flexing his fingers open and close. "What?" I prompt him. "Just know that you don't have to protect her. Not anymore. Not from me." His face is so pure and vulnerable in this moment that it hurts my heart. I've wanted him to want her for so long.

"I trust you," I tell him, and reach out a hand to close it around his. Squeezing, I give him a reassuring smile. My words have likely surprised him as much as they've surprised me, but they're true. I _do_ trust him, and I _do _see that he's changed.

He tugs my hand and pulls me lightly until I'm kneeling next to him. Before I even have a chance to fully panic about the closeness of our proximity, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest in a tight hug. Smiling against his shoulder, I hug him back.

**-0-0-0-**

"So can I ask you an uncomfortable question?" We're side-by-side on Edward's leather couch, each of us clutching a mostly-full beer. It feels good to have something to do with my hands, and I peel away at the label while I consider what Edward intends to ask me. Leaning my head against the back of the couch, I raise my eyebrows expectantly, indicating that the floor is open for conversation...uncomfortable questions and all.

Edward leans forward and swings his beer bottle between his spread knees. I can see his jaw working from my spot on the couch beside him, and I know him well enough to know that he's really thinking hard about what he wants to say. "I'm an open book," I tease him, poking my socked toes into his side. He grins and squirms away from me, setting his still-full beer bottle on a nearby side table in the process. Turning to face me, he mirrors my pose and leans his head against the couch, as well.

"I'm just curious," he prefaces, "And you don't even have to answer if you don't want to..."

"What?" I interrupt. "Just spit it out."

I watch the corner of his jaw jump as he considers his words. "I just wondered if she's ever asked about me." The apples of his cheeks turn pink, and he picks at an errant thread on the hem of his shorts. _He cares, _I think as he shrugs sheepishly and avoids my eyes.

"All she's ever known is Emmett," I answer him quietly, and I wonder if my words comfort him or heighten his regret. His face shows his disappointment, and I rush to fill in the blanks. "It's for the best, Edward." I wedge my toes under his thigh, hoping that my closeness will help to soften my words. "Ava's had Emmett by her side since before she was born. He's all she's ever known, and he's filled a void in her that she doesn't even realize she has. I know it's hard to hear, but it's a _good _thing she doesn't ask about you. It means she's happy, and that she's not aware of our past mistakes." I watch his face as he digests what I've said. We're at a point, I think, after the ups and downs of the past few days, where we can finally be completely honest with each other. Some things hurt to hear, but they need to be said.

"My turn." I nudge him with foot. "Can I ask _you_ a hard question now?" He wiggles a bit like he's settling in and closes his eyes; head tilted back against the cushion. If possible, his jaw seems sharper from this angle, and I clasp my hands and tuck them in my lap to keep from touching him. "What made you change your mind?" I ask. Then, to clarify, "I mean, about coming back for us." I squeeze my eyes against my embarrassment and try again. "Sorry. That didn't come out right. I know you didn't come back _for _us, but-"

"I know what you mean," he interrupts me, relieving me from having to talk my way out of my own mess. He sighs deeply and turns to face me. "I know it seemed like I never cared, but I did," he says, grabbing my ankle and holding it tightly. "I cared so much it scared me. And—since we're being honest here—I was just a selfish kid. I didn't want to care because caring meant giving up my future plans, and I was too selfish to do that." His hand squeezes my ankle, his thumb brushing circles against my skin. "But that doesn't mean it was easy to leave you. And it doesn't mean I haven't thought about you every day since then."

It hurts to hear him talk about choosing college over involvement in the life of our baby, but I appreciate his honesty, and it's obvious that he's given this topic quite a bit of thought. "I came back," he continues, "because I obviously chose poorly. I have a _daughter_, and she doesn't even know I exist." His voice shakes with emotion on the last word, but the irony of this situation is not lost on me. I cried for years because he choose a life in which Ava and I did not exist. I know how much this hurts.

"What a mess, huh?" I sigh and lean my head against his shoulder. He chuckles, the rumble in his laugh vibrating my head. "You want a fresh drink?" he asks me after a few quiet moments, nodding his head towards my still-full beer.

"I'd better not," I say with a sigh. "It's getting late; I should head home." Stretching, I move toward the edge of the couch, but Edward stills my movement with a warm palm on my denim-covered knee.

"Hey, Birdie?" he says softly.

"That nickname," I groan. "I want to kill Emmett all over again each time I hear it." I turn to look at him, noticing the way his eyes dance with mirth and how they appear clear and light for the first time tonight.

He grins at me and pulls me in for a hug, tucking my head under his chin. "Thanks for listening," he says, squeezing me tight. "I'm really trying hard to fix my mistakes." Pulling back, he eyes me warily, searching my face for permission to continue.

"What?" I ask quietly.

His hands rest lightly on my knees before he squeezes them both in tandem. "I'd like to meet my daughter," he whispers.

I place my hand over his, threading our fingers and pouring seven years of hope, pain, and chance into my answering squeeze. "I think it might be time."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading. <strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**-0-0-0-**

The ride back home that night, after my heart-to-heart with Edward, passes by in a hazy blur. My body drives itself mindlessly, while my brain picks apart the delicate task of talking to Ava about her daddy. Despite my body and my mind, my heart flutters on, hope and history giving it an extra beat on occasion.

I learned to deal with hardships at an early age. Life handed me a bundle that I wasn't prepared for and I did the only thing I knew how to do: I faced it head-on and gave it my all.

These days, my hardships look like an older, more mature Edward Cullen, and despite my heart still wearing the battle scars from the last time it opened up and let him in, I'm ready once again to face it head-on and give it my all. Only time will tell what this means—for me, for her, for us—but I know friendship, and eventually, co-parenting, sound like a pretty great start.

The thing about being a mama, though, is that you'd rather die than watch your child suffer. There is literally nothing I won't do to protect my girl. And so I'm torn. Equal parts excited about letting Ava in on the secret she doesn't even know I've been keeping and, conversely, terrified to my very core that he'll hurt her or expose the secrets of her accidental creation that will make her feel unwanted or unloved. Because, admittedly, she _was_ unexpected, but she was never unwanted or unloved. I wanted her from the very first moment, when proof of her existence was simply two pink lines on a little plastic stick.

* * *

><p>The first time Edward snuck into my room things were hot and fast. That seems to be the way it works with us. Escalating quickly, our time together is too taboo to do much more than take, take, take. What was previously a small flame flickering between the two of us has ignited into a full-blown fire. I can't get enough of him. Ever. Likewise, he seems to have made it his mission to introduce me to what it feels like to touch and be touched, and to allow my body to soar sky-high. For once, I'm grateful for his past experiences. I hate thinking about how he gathered his knowledge, but my body can't deny its pleasure in the way he knows exactly how to touch and feel and taste me.<p>

I lose my head when we're together like that; sharing kisses and touches, the passing of hands under shirts and inside of pants. His presence makes my head swim. I can't think straight when he's in my bed, under me, over me, using me up. The heavy weight of his body is my drug. The way he holds me tightly with one hand and maps my skin with the other, my addiction. There's the suck-suck-pull of his kisses, and the way he sighs when I scratch my nails through his hair. There's the deep groans that pass through his chest and into mine when he squeezes my hip and grinds his body into mine. It's too much, too intense, too perfect.

My brother teases me about my "crush" on his friend. "Getting fancy for Edward, Birdie?" he mocks, when I'm in the bathroom primping and pruning. My Edward-induced awkwardness makes it perfectly clear how I feel about my brother's best friend, but Edward is as smooth as silk—always confident, never wavering—and it's because of him that Emmett has no clue about us; about how my body rises and peaks for Edward's hands while he's pushing them into and around me behind my closed bedroom door.

Emmett's "entertaining" Jessica in the pool one Saturday evening while our parents clean out the garage, organizing their camping gear and gathering supplies for their upcoming trip. Lauren has stopped coming around, which makes Edward the odd man out as far as Emmett is concerned.

"We're going swimming, Ed," he announced earlier, after Jess had shown up in yet another thinly-strung bikini. "You coming?" My brother grabbed three towels from the basket of folded clothes on top of the dryer and pulled Jess towards the back door.

Edward was sprawled out on our living room couch, his legs thrown wide, the remote control balanced precociously on his flat stomach. A baseball game droned on, and the overhead fan made a click-click-click noise from up above as it tried desperately to push cooler air down to us. I sat opposite Edward with one eye on my book, and one eye on the boy who made my palms sweat and my heart gallop. Edward's eyes didn't leave the television as he tilted his head back and shouted back to my brother, "Nah, I'm good. Go on ahead." Emmett threw the extra towel back into the basket, a waded mess at this point, and shrugged his shoulders. Jessica's high-pitched giggle bounced off the tiled floor as he lead her outside and away from us.

And that's how I ended up with Edward—alone—on a sweaty, summer Saturday night.

After Emmett and Jess have gone we sit in companionable silence for a bit. I can feel his eyes on me from across the living room, and I'm aware of his every breath. I'm aware of his everything.

"We should get ice-cream," he says eventually, still not looking away from the screen.

I hum noncommittally and softly close my book, placing it beside me on the cushion. I'm a complete mess, but it can't be helped in this heat. My bare thighs stick to the leather couch under the hem of my cut-off shorts, and they make a sticky popping sound as I shift my legs. I bask in the feel of Edward's stare as he finally turns his head away from the TV to look at me. Pulling my hair tie off my wrist, I gather my sweaty hair up into a messy knot on the top of my head, watching Edward as his eyes lift to take in the sight of my bare arms stretched high above me.

He raises his eyebrows in silent question. "You wanna?"

Securing my hair with one final twist, I shrug my shoulders and move to stand. "Sure," I say, tugging my shorts down from where they've ridden up. "Do you want me to ask Emmett to drive us?"

Edward grabs the remote and silences the TV, then tosses it down on the couch before standing and raising his arms above his head in a long stretch. My eyes flutter-drop to the band of his boxers and the trail of hair that leads into them. It just might be my favorite spot on his entire body. Relaxing his arms, he digs into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out a ring of keys, jingling them lightly. "I've got my mom's car tonight. I'll drive."

I've never ridden in a car with Edward driving. I didn't even know he _could _drive, but I don't question him as I follow him through the front door and out onto the street where a sleek, silver Volvo sits snuggly against the curb. Edward hits a padded button on one of the keys, and the car gives a little "chirp" as its doors unlock. Climbing in, I look around at the expensive-looking interior while he jogs to the driver's side and lowers himself into his seat. He spins his hat around backward and buckles his seatbelt. The way he looks behind the wheel—his jaw strong and sharp, his long legs wide apart—makes my stomach flutter. How is it that _he__'__s_ here with _me_?

Edward looks at me and smirks playfully. "All good?" He raises his eyebrows in question.

Suddenly feeling shy to be alone with him in this small space, I smile softly at him. "All good."

Edward drives us to the nearest ice-cream shop, keeping one hand on the steering wheel while the other grips my thigh. He squeezes me gently each time he prepares to stop or turn, and I feel so utterly complete in this bubble with him that it's easy to pretend that this could all be real someday. Edward and Bella. Bella and Edward. Just us; no past, no insecurities, no pesky older brothers. I smile at the thought.

I sit on his lap outside the store while we share a sundae, giggling as he licks sticky, fallen drops off my fingers. It's a useless battle, eating ice-cream in these nighttime temps, but I'm too caught up in the feel of his firm thighs under mine and the pressure of his warm palm on my hip to care. I've never been openly affectionate in public with him...with _anyone..._before, and I'm surprised by how much I love feeling his hands on me; always touching, rubbing, holding. He's very giving with his affection, and although I like what he does to my body's most secret places, I think maybe I love his light touches best.

We lick the last, sweet drops from the bottom of the plastic cup and Edward pats my butt lightly, telling me to stand. Tossing our trash, we make our way back to his car hand-in-hand. He tugs on my arm just as I'm reaching to open my door and spins me around so that I'm caught between him and the car, my back pressed firmly against the glass, my front pressed firmly against him. Dropping his head, he flips his hat around and pushes my hair back with his nose, running his closed lips up and down the column of my neck softly. His breath is warm, but his lips are ice-cream cold. Edward's hand on my hip pulls me closer, aligning our bodies so that we're pressed together, and my stomach jumps at the feel of his hardness against my belly. He hums quietly, face still buried in the side of my neck. "You smell good."

My eyes are closed, and every bit of focus I have is concentrated on the feel of his lips at my ear and his hips at my hips. My head drops back against the car window, and I wrap my arms around his waist, sticking my hands under the hem of his shirt and scratching my nails lightly over the warm skin I find there.

"Yeah?" My voice is nearly breathless.

"Yeah. Like vanilla." He nips the thin skin under my ear lightly with his teeth, and my hips roll against his in response. I run my hands higher under his shirt and scratch my nails harder against his skin. His warm body makes me crazy, and I could lose my mind at the feels-so-good way his words get lost against my neck. Pulling his hips back slightly, he adjusts his stance so that his legs are spread wider; his long, tall body framing my smaller one. Edward places a few, sweet kisses on the corner of my mouth before pulling back to meet my eyes. His greens flicker back and forth between my browns before he lowers his lips to mine and kisses me breathless. Open mouthed and needy, I pull against his faded t-shirt, missing the weight of his body and wanting him back. When he leans against me this time, we're warm center-to-center, and I inhale a sharp breath at the feel of him, hard and long and hot, pressed exactly where I need him most.

"Fuck," he breathes. Then, "fuck," softly once more. His hand on my hip squeezes me, making me to grind against him. It feels so blessedly good, and all I can think is that I have to have more. More, more, more. I have to get closer. I lift my leg over the side of his so that we're aligned even closer, tighter, harder, and he slides his arm underneath and grips my upper thigh.

"We can't—," he chokes out, breaking his connection with my lips. "Not here."

I'm spun-dizzy and reeling, my eyes heavy lidded and my chest heaving harshly. I stare at him in lust-filled wonderment, my heart painfully tugging at the sight of his beautifully flushed face. He's right, even though my mind was too fuzzy to make sense of it myself, he's right. We can't do this here, in the parking lot of our small town's ice-cream shop.

Laughing in embarrassment, I smooth my hair back into place and adjust the hem of my shorts. Edward kisses my mouth softly once more and reaches around me to open my car door, waiting patiently until I'm seated and strapped in before shutting it and returning to his side. He winces painfully as he folds into his seat, reaching between his legs to adjust the proof of our parking lot antics. A blush rises up my chest and to my cheeks, but for once it's not the result of shame. It's pride. _I _did that to him.

Edward slings his arm around the back of my seat and looks over his shoulder as he throws the car in reverse, taking us back to my house.

"You're making me lose my mind," he says, glancing over at me quickly. He puts his hand on my thigh again, but unlike the earlier car ride it feels suggestive and not at all innocent. Our parking lot make-out session has left me feeling desperate and unsatisfied, and the weight of his palm on my leg causes me to shift in my seat, searching for friction.

"Me," I laugh, feigning innocence. "What am I doing?"

He shakes his head and smiles a secret smile; one that tells of roaming hands under covers and quick kisses behind closed doors. "Those shorts," he says, running his hand up my thigh and tugging on the loose strings hanging from the bottom of my cutoffs. "They make me crazy."

My breath catches when he pushes his fingers up and under my frayed hem, and I stop breathing altogether when his fingers brush against my cotton panties. He rubs small circles over my wet center with one hand while he navigates the steering wheel with the other. I love the look of concentration on his face—the way his eyebrows come together and how his pink lips pucker—and I lean my head back against my headrest to watch him while he touches me.

"Always so fucking wet," he groans, his voice a needy plea. "That makes me crazy, too." I can see the beads of sweat on his forehead in the lights from the car's dash and how his strong jaw is tight with tension

It's too much...it's all just too much. His hand is on me but he's too far away. I miss his heat and his weight. I miss his lips. "Pull over," I breathe. "Pull over."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**-0-0-0-**

Edward pulls his hand from me and returns it to the steering wheel so he can guide the car off the main road. He drives for a few minutes through a residential neighborhood and, although it's dark and hard to see, I notice the looming silhouette of an old, abandoned bank nearby. He pulls to a stop and cuts the engine; the lights turning off when the car does, leaving us cloaked in complete darkness. I can't get to him fast enough, and he must feel the same rush, because the engine is still clink-clink-clinking and we're already unbuckled and half way over the console in a rush to find each other's lips. His kiss isn't soft this time, but I don't need it to be. I'm too worked up and too needy for gentle. His hands on my face tilt my head where he wants it, his kisses turning frantic as licks his way from my mouth, to my chin, to my throat.

"Get in the back," he whispers, his lips tugging and biting at my ear. I scramble into the backseat as quickly as I'm able, slipping on the smooth leather in my attempt. Once I'm settled, I reach for Edward and he climbs up and over to me. He attacks my lips again, sliding the thin straps of my tank top off my shoulders with quick and nimble fingers. Yanking, he exposes my chest, but leaves the fabric bunched up around my belly. His lips follow his hand's path; his mouth pausing to bite softly at the top of each breast. "God, your tits," he moans, palming them roughly. "They're so fucking perfect."

My hands push his hat off and toss it blindly into the front seat. Leaning back against the door, I run my fingers through his hair, grabbing him and holding him to me while he sucks one stiff nipple, then the other. He pulls my knees apart and presses down on me, the heat and hardness behind his zipper probing firmly against my hip. Grabbing his t-shirt from behind his head, he pulls it up and over, throwing it into the front seat alongside his discarded hat. His skin burns, and the ache in my belly grows stronger at the feel of his warm chest pressed against mine. He's smooth and hard and all boy. My hands can't get enough.

My confidence stalls as my hands roam lower over his sides and belly. I've never touched him like he touches me, and the reminder mismatched experience levels is a sobering one. I don't know what to do or how to do it, and I can't fake this part.

Edward notices my discomfort and pulls back to search for my eyes through the darkness. "What's wrong?" he whispers, kissing my mouth softly. The darkness hides my blush, but—embarrassed—I bury my heated face in his neck anyway. "I've...uh...I've never..." I gesture to where he's resting against my hip, the fabric of his jeans doing little to hide the bulge that presses through from beneath.

"Don't worry," he breathes, kissing me gently once more. "I've got you."

He takes my hand softly in his and slowly moves it down so that it's cupping his erection. I'm scared to move; unsure of what to do. The weight of him intimidates me, but there's power in holding his firm length, and when I squeeze my hand gently and he hisses, a thrill of excitement shoots straight to the center of my core. Lifting up, he reaches between us and pops the button on his pants, pulling them open far enough for me to fit my hand inside. He's warm, even through the soft fabric of his boxers, and I can feel every solid inch of him this way. Edward bends forward until our swollen lips meet. His, warm and full, tug at my own, coaxing them open. When his tongue tangles with mine I moan at the goodness of it and bite down on his lower lip.

I cling to him tightly when he pulls away after a few moments to move his lips down to my chest and, once again, my nipple. He sucks lightly at first, then harder, forcing a desperate whimper from my lips and a needy squeeze from the hand wrapped around the hardest part of him. "God," he breathes, pausing to rest his forehead against my chest. "That feels so fucking good."

Encouraged by his words and my own curiosity, I slip a finger underneath the band of his boxers, running it lightly back and forth until he lifts his head. The darkness in the car makes it hard for me to fully see his heavy-lidded eyes and swollen lips, but it doesn't matter. He's the most achingly beautiful thing I've ever seen. I raise my eyebrows slightly in question and dip my finger lower under his elastic band, his harsh pants spurring me on. He's silky smooth and pulsing hard when I finally wrap my fingers around him. Despite my inexperience, I know without a doubt that this hidden part of Edward is just as perfect as the rest of him.

His hips follow the movement of my hand, and before I know it I'm tightly fisting him while he bucks up into me. He meets each thrust with a nip or suck to the hollow spot beneath my ear, painting me in goosebumps and shivers.

"I can't," he whispers, when the pace picks up. "I'll come." This, too, sends a rush of power through me. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to make this beautiful boy feel as good as I do.

"That's okay," I say. "I want you to."

He groans as if he's in pain and wraps his arms around and under me, removing my hand from his boxers in the process. Face buried in my neck, he hugs me to him tightly.

"Don't say stuff like that." His words are a gentle reprimand, but his voice is low and hoarse, making my heart swell further. "You're killing me. It's so hard to stop with you."

I pull his head up and run my fingernails over his scalp, tugging gently at the too-long hair around his ears. Kissing his still-swollen lips, I whisper against his mouth, "Then don't stop."

Breaking our kiss, his eyes jump back and forth between mine, his eyebrows drawn up as though he's confused. He's still for a few moments, chest heaving, at war with his own thoughts. "Please..." I breathe, pulling him to me again. "Edward, please."

My plea has the intended effect, breaking him from his concentrated thoughts and drawing his attention back to where I want it: on me. He lunges for my lips, no longer slow and thorough, his kisses are full of bites and tugs, his tongue swirling hotly with mine. One hand banded around my back, he uses the other to work the button loose on my jean shorts, lowering the zipper and splaying them open. Drawing my knees up, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him near me until I can feel his hardness against my hip again. Our warm bellies press together and retreat as he grinds and swirls against me. He's hard and warm and deliciously heavy, but he's still too far away, and this still isn't enough.

I reach to pull him from his boxers at the same time that he slides his hand over the top of my thigh and down to the wet patch of cotton between my legs, our arms tangling briefly as we battle in our rush to touch each other. Pausing to help me lower his underwear, his hand stills at my center, its heavy weight and heat making me hiss with need for him. For more.

He watches my face as his erection springs free, closing his eyes tightly when I reach my hand up to rub him. "Please," I beg, again, so desperate to touch and be touched that I can't even really be sure what I'm pleading for.

Edward's breathing speeds up at my words, his breath kissing my face in soft puffs of sweet air. His large hand squeezes my thigh when I rub his length from top to bottom once more. Recognizing the unasked question in his gesture, I lift my hips so he can slide my underwear down my thighs. The damp, twisted cloth catches at my knees and, no longer holding Edward's attention, he leaves them there to run his palms up my thighs, his firm grip making me part my knees as far as the binding of my underwear will allow.

He runs an inquisitive finger through my newly exposed wetness, and I moan, gripping him tighter with my legs. When he spreads my own moisture over the most swollen part of me, my hips jerk, pushing me harder against his hand. I whimper when his fingers begin rubbing me in slow, firm circles and use my free hand to grip the back of his head, feeling his soft hair and bringing his face closer to mine.

My head is cloudy with the scent and touch and feel of him. I can't think straight. My inexperience makes me pause, unsure of what to do next. "Take these off," he whispers, giving me no time to comply before he hooks his fingers into the cloth at my knees and pulls my underwear all the way down my legs.

He kisses my lips while he rubs me, and I don't even realize my hand has fallen away from him in my lust-filled haze until I open my eyes to find him completely bare, his pants and boxers having joined my clothes in a crumpled heap on the floorboard at our feet. I'm surprised by how fast we ended up here, both of us naked and in the backseat of his car. It feels too good for me to question its rightness.

Edward's thighs and belly press against mine as he centers himself over me, one hand pushed against my thigh, spreading me open before him, the other gripping the door panel beside my head. "So fucking perfect," he mumbles, almost to himself, pulling my legs wider.

I feel liquid trickle down the curve of my ass, tickling, and Edward seems to like this, because he growls quietly and grips himself in the space between us, tugging harshly.

He bends to kiss me deeply, biting at my lips, and rubs himself through my wetness. It quells the ache inside me for a moment, but as soon as he pulls away, I'm empty. I can't tear my eyes away from his face—all sharp angles and hard lines in the darkness of the car—to see what our bodies look like pressed and tangled together, but I know it's good. We're made to fit like this; a perfect match. I want more. More of him, more of this. More of everything.

"Edward," I pant. "God…"

This seems to be all the permission he needs, because he dips his head to my neck and moans softly while his hips push him up and inside of me. It doesn't hurt, not really; the new feeling of fullness is delicious and unique. I ache for him deep inside.

Kissing my neck, he gives a gentle, exploratory thrust, and I tense, waiting for pain that doesn't come. He pushes inside me and slides out, inch by inch, each small thrust met with groan from him and a gasp from me. Pulling back to watch my face, he smiles softly. "Okay?"

I'm great, but I can't seem to find the words to tell him, lost as I am in the feeling of his weight on top of me and his hardness inside. Moving a little faster, he pushes himself back up on his hands, looking down to watch the spot where we're joined. "Fuck," he hisses, face tight with concentration.

The feeling of fullness fades as my body adjusts to his, only to be replaced by a wonderfully sharp pang as he hits something deep inside. I gasp, clinging to him when his pace quickens. His hands on my hips and ass pull me to him, then push me back as he sinks in and lifts out of me.

I watch his face, because he's beautiful. His mouth turns down in a concentrated pout, his jaw tensing and releasing in time with his thrusts. My thighs start to shake, and the feeling low in my belly spreads out all over my body until it falls out of my mouth in a guttural groan. Digging my fingers into Edward's back grounds me and helps me regain my focus on him—on what we're doing. My thighs clamp shut around Edward's hips just as he slams into me once, twice, three times with a painful sounding moan, stilling as he comes. Bending to bury his head in the space between my shoulder and neck, he pants harshly and squeezes me to him.

"Jesus," he breathes. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. That was…intense." He nuzzles the side of my neck with his nose and brushes the matted hair from my sweaty forehead.

"I'm fine," I shush him, softly. I'm great, really. My body is humming and vibrating, and my heart feels like it's going to take flight. I scratch my fingernails up and down his bare back, drawing goosebumps to its surface.

He's softer inside me now, the feeling of fullness having abated, but he still feels thick and long when he pulls his hips back and slides gently out of me. Reaching into the front seat, he grabs a fistful of napkins from the glove compartment and leans back over me, kissing me soft and slow before helping me sit up. Liquid runs down my leg—a mixture of him and me— and our eyes lock briefly when he hands me the wad of napkins. I clean myself, then focus my attention on the seat while he pulls his clothes on. The distance between us suddenly feels huge in this tiny space. I want to be back under him, wrapped around him, where everything felt right.

Edward's face remains carefully blank as he gathers my clothes from the floor and turns them right-side-out for me. He helps me pull my sweaty hair from the collar of my shirt, then gently slides my underwear back up my legs and over my knees, a gesture that left me panting earlier, but makes my heart ache now.

"I should get you home," he says, kissing me softly. "You sure you're okay?"

The tale-tell burn of tears pricks my eyes and closes my throat, so I nod instead, terrified that anything more will send them running down my cheeks. I don't want to go home, and I don't want him to regret this.

Edward pats my thigh and opens the car door, unfolding his long body and climbing out, then leaning back in to offer me his hand. The night air, although warm, cools my flushed face and feels good against my sweaty body. Not letting go of my hand, Edward tugs me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.

We stand that way for several moments, his lips pressed against the top of my head, my hands fisted tightly against his back.

I'm not stupid. I know that it's good-bye.

* * *

><p>Emmett and Rosalie come into the diner for dinner on occasion, so it shouldn't surprise me to see them walk through the door tonight—a Thursday—especially since Ava went to my parents' after school today, leaving Emmett free from baby-sitting while I'm at work.<p>

I'm happy to have them here. Adult time is hard to come by these days, and I'm grateful for any opportunity to catch a moment with them. Grabbing two menus, I lead them back to my section and seat them in the corner, away from the noise in the main section of the restaurant.

"What're you guys up to?" I ask, perching on the edge of the booth next to Rose. The diner is slow on Thursdays, and all of my tables are caught up on drink refills.

My brother sighs dramatically and stretches his long arms across the back of the plastic seat behind him. "Nothing much," he says, pausing to yawn into his elbow. "Work's killing us right now. We didn't feel like cooking."

"Nothing a bag of Cheetos and a six-pack hasn't fixed before, Em," I say with a snort. Emmett helps me out tremendously around our house, but cooking has never been his forte. His idea of a well-rounded meal includes putting a piece of ham on his grilled cheese sandwich to "balance it out."

"You want a drink?" I ask, turning to Rose. She does look tired, Emmett's right. As usual, a pang of guilt hits me when I think about how much added effort their relationship must be because of the time and effort my brother—both of them, really—spend on Ava and me.

Rosalie smiles sweetly at me and tugs at the frilly ruffle on the side of my apron, a fashion faux pas she wouldn't be caught dead in, work mandated or not. "Tea, please."

My brother orders a Coke, and I leave them and head behind the counter to grab their drinks, along with the basket of complimentary rolls we serve with each meal. I'm headed back to their table, balancing their cups in one hand and the basket of warm bread in the other, when I see a tall, well-dressed man approaching their table.

Edward.

It's Thursday. Meatloaf night; his favorite. I completely forgot.

We reach their booth at the same time, and Edward gives me a bright smile and a warm hug before turning to greet my brother and Rose.

"Long time, no see, man," he says, clapping Emmett's shoulder. If Emmett's anything but thrilled to see Edward after all this time, he doesn't show it. "Well, I'll be," he says, standing and offering his hand to Edward. "How've you been, Cullen?" They grin at each other like fools before engaging in some type of bro-code handshake-backslap-fake-wrestle thing. I catch Rose's eye, her perfectly manicured eyebrow raising in silent question. She's heard plenty about Edward—even met him briefly—but by the way she's sitting in her seat, shoulders stiff and lips pursed, I can tell this formal introduction will be an…interesting one.

"Eddie, this is my Rosie," Emmett says, grabbing Edward's shoulder and directing him towards where Rosalie sits. "Rosie, this is my partner-in-crime from when I was younger. Cullen and I got into all kinds of shi—"

"So I've heard," Rose rolls her eyes at the two of them, but then surprises me by rising to her feet and and leaning outside the booth to kiss Edward's cheek. "My very favorite little girl looks just like you," she tells him, pausing to scan his features. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Edward's cheeks turn pink at her words, but he smiles kindly and nods his head in agreement. "It's nice to meet you, too," he says. "I've heard a lot of great things about you."

My brother claps Edward's back again, making me wonder if he'll have a bruise there later. "Join us, Cullen!" he booms.

Edward looks at me hesitantly, as though he's unsure about whether or not I want him spending time with my family. At one time, Edward and Emmett were inseparable, and Edward spent as much time in my home as I did. I'm momentarily saddened that he needs to ask, although touched that he thought he should.

"Go on," I say, touching his arm lightly. "I'll grab you something to drink. Tea?"

"Please." The smile he gives me makes me blush, and when I turn away I see Rose smirk as she looks at her menu with overly enthusiastic interest.

When I return with Edward's drink, he's taken his suit jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair that he's pulled up to the end of Emmett and Rose's booth. Placing his tea and a straw in front of him, I slide in next to Rose again, hoping to steal a minute or two of downtime before another table needs me.

I'm just in time to hear Rose ask Edward where he works, and he pauses to thank me for his tea before answering her. I don't miss the raised eyebrow she offers in approval of his impeccable manners.

"I'm a lawyer," Edward answers her, shifting in his seat. "I work with my dad." Just like every other time he talks about his job, Edward sounds pained. I wonder, and not for the first time, if he even likes what he does for a living.

With Rose pressed up against my left side and Edward's knee pressed against mine on my right, I feel both literally _and_ figuratively caught between them.

Rosalie hums noncommittally. "A lawyer," she replies. "How interesting." To his benefit, Edward doesn't squirm under her scrutiny. He nods politely and takes a sip of his tea, his long fingers holding the straw steady between his lips. I realize I'm staring and look away. "Well that must be nice," she says, haughtily.

Edward appears to genuinely consider her assessment of his career choice. He clears his throat once before answering her unasked question. "It's nice enough, I guess," he says, twisting his straw wrapper into tight knots. "I'm joining the bankruptcy department at my dad's firm. It's not exactly what I'd hoped to practice, but—"

"Bella's still in school, you know."

"Rose," I admonish. "Edward knows I'm in school. He helps me with my statistics homework on occasion." I smile at Edward, trying to make light of the uncomfortable situation Rose has steered us directly into.

"It's just that you've…_obviously_, spent all this time in school, and Bella, well, she's lucky if she can fit in a class or two each semester. When she's not working, she's at school, and when she's not at school she's at ho—"

"Rosie, please," I place my hand on her thigh and turn my eyes to hers, pleading. "Please, stop," I whisper. A silent debate passes between us; me begging her to stop, and her considering how much further she wants to go. Rose is like a big sister to me, and my best friend, to boot. She's been my supporter and my defender for years, and I admire her for her strength and for the way she steadfastly encourages me, but I need to stand on my own now.

My brother looks uncomfortable from his seat across the table, and when I finally work up the courage to face Edward, he's fixated on the now mutilated straw wrapper in his hands. This feels like a setback. We'd come so far—Edward and I—and it seemed as though we'd finally figured out how to exist as friends working toward the same goal: doing what's best for Ava. I can't help but be frustrated with Rosalie for popping the bubble that we'd encased ourselves in. Was I naive to think that everyone in my family,—in my _life—_would welcome Edward with open arms? There's so much painful history between us.

"You're absolutely right, Rose." Clearing his throat, Edward looks boldly at my best friend. The straw wrapper's remains sit in a neat pile of fuzz near his tea, but his hands are folded calmly in front of him now. "I turned my back on what's important so that I could go to school and impress my father." He smiles at me sadly.

He's apologized to me so many times, and while words don't ever really change the past, they go a long way towards laying the foundation for a future. I'm not angry at him anymore; I'm not even resentful. It's bittersweet sadness that fills me now.

"Hey, man," Emmett slaps his palms against the table jovially, making us jump and dispelling the somber moment. "That's between you and Bella. If she's good, we're good." My brother rubs his stomach and stretches his arms back across the seat again, reminding me that I'm at work and I'd better get back to it.

Standing, I stretch my stiff back and gesture towards the kitchen. "Meatloaf, then?" The three of them nod their heads, and I retreat to put their orders in. After refilling my other customer's drinks and wiping down a table or two, I'm behind the diner's counter plating a piece of cobbler when Edward walks slowly toward me with his hands in his pockets.

"Hi." I say, smiling.

His smile matches mine, and he leans against the counter on his elbows. "Busy?"

"Not really. Did Rose run you off?"

He shakes his head. "She's pretty harmless." He laughs when I snort in disbelief. "I actually came over to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," I reply, confused. "What do you mean?"

"What she said…" He starts and stops, rubbing a hand over his jaw wearily. "I'm sorry, Bella. She's right. It's so unfair."

Leaning forward, I grip his clasped hands in mine and brace my elbows on the counter, mirroring his pose. "Edward." I wait for him to meet my eyes. "It _is_ unfair. But it's in the past, and there's nothing we can do to change it. Don't apologize anymore, okay?"

"No more apologies," he repeats. "Got it."

"Good." I free my hands, reaching under the counter to grab a plate. "Pie?"

He grins, nodding eagerly. I set the slice in front of him and make him a new glass of tea.

"Thank you." He pauses, fork suspended mid-air. "For being so understanding. And for the pie."

I smile widely. "Anytime."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

><p>"This is Emmett." My brother's voice is professionally sharp in my ear. If I didn't know him, I might be impressed by the authority I hear there, but I do, so I'm not.<p>

"I'll never understand why you say that," I pretend to ponder. "I mean, I called_ you_, so it obviously _is _you."

I hear the sound of leather shifting through the line, a clear indicator he's reclining in his office chair. Most likely he's placed his gargantuan feet on the corner of his polished desk. "Are your feet up?" I tease, grinning widely. "Because that's so…douchey." Leather speaks again, followed by the distinct _clomp-clomp_ of my brother's feet as they drop back to the ground. "No," he scoffs. "I don't do that shit."

Laughing outright, I place my own, bare feet on the corner of the tiny IKEA desk in our den. The early morning sun throws anorexic slats of light through the blinds, warming the top of my pale toes. My navy blue polish is chipped at the corners, a wiggle-worthy observation. I prefer them chipped; perfection has never been my thing.

Tapping the touch-pad on my ancient laptop, I lift my shoulder and squeeze the phone against my cheek. "Sorry I missed your call," I say. "I was taking a timed test for school. I couldn't pause until it was over."

"No worries," Emmett replies. "I figured you were busy with school stuff. Listen, I'm heading to Rose's after work, so I won't be home for dinner. You and Ava good without me?"

I snort. "I think we'll manage." Ava's and my time alone has been more and more frequent lately with Emmett spending most nights at Rose's. It's fine, really, and I'm happy for my brother. It lessens the guilt I feel over his life being so entwined with ours, and—if I'm being honest—it means there's less mess for me to deal with around the house on a daily basis. He's still there for Ava in the evenings when I'm at the diner, which is when I need his help the most, so I really can't complain. Not that I would, anyway.

"Rose's landlord's been giving her shit about her water meter, and I want to go over there and check it out," Emmett continues. He's annoyed about the situation and feels like Rose is being scammed, a frustration he explains to me in great detail. I flick through the tabs at the top of my screen, acknowledging him when it's necessary and grumbling when it's appropriate. I'm scrolling through emails when Emmett's story takes an abrupt left turn…

"Wait." I push away from the distraction of my keyboard. "What'd you say about Edward?"

"I knew you weren't listening!" my brother accuses. "I _said_ Edward came up here today."

"To the bank?" I question, sitting up straighter. "Why?"

"Well fuck you, Birdie," Emmett grumbles. "Maybe he wanted to see me. Or maybe he wanted to hang out, like old times. Maybe it's not _all_ Bella, _all_ the—"

"No, really. Why?" Something's up. Emmett's usually all business on the phone when he's at work. This long, drawn out conversation has been a lure; an avoidance tactic. "Why'd he come by?"

My brother takes a deep breath and asks me if I'm sitting down. I _was_, but the sudden anxiety bomb he's dropped on me has me lurching to my feet and pacing the tiny den, thumbnail to teeth. A long, heavy sigh rattles the speaker against my ear as Emmett thinks over what he's going to say.

"He brought a check by," he murmurs. Pausing, he delivers his next words with practiced precision. "For you."

Trading pacing for confusion, I halt my steps and fall back on my abandoned desk chair. "For me? Why?"

Emmett's confident banker voice long forgotten, his answering response is low and cautious. "Well, for…um, school. I think."

I'm still not following. "Edward brought you a check for my school?" I pause, running the scenario through my head once more. Even though he can't see me, I lift my shoulders in exasperation. "I don't get it."

"I think he was jus—"

"How much is the check for, Emmett?" I interrupt him, suddenly feeling tentative. I can't wrap my head around any situation that involves _Edward _bringing _Emmett _a check for _me._

I'm able to doodle a few dozen circles on my nearby notebook in the time it takes Emmett to squeak out his answer. "A few thousand," he finally answers.

Still baffled, I doodle faster. "How _many _thousand?" I question, my eyes shut tight against the potential impact of his answer.

"Umm…twenty?"

Emmett stays quiet on the line while I grapple for breath. Twenty thousand dollars. Twenty _thousand _dollars? This makes absolutely no sense. When Edward left the diner on Thursday he seemed happy and upbeat, a change of pace from his earlier, brooding mood. He'd felt guilty after Rose's harsh comparison of our school careers and…

Oh.

Oh!

School.

"I'll call you later, Em," I bark at my brother, hammering the disconnect button on my phone until it eventually responds. Biting my lip, I navigate through my list of contacts, my flustered fingers scrolling past the one I need. Overwhelming feelings battle for dominance in my head as the phone rings softly against my ear.

"Bella. Hey." Edward's smooth voice raises goosebumps on my arms and draws heat to the apples of my cheeks.

Unprepared, my voice is a stuttering mess. "Um. Yeah…hi. I'm calling because my brother told me you dropped off a check for me—a _twenty_ _thousand dollar check_—and, well…what the hell, Edward?"

He chuckles. "I wondered how long it'd take you to figure it out. It was _supposed _to be a surprise, you know." He says it like it's cute. Like it's no big deal. Like he left a cup of my favorite coffee on my desk or dog-eared a page in my favorite book.

"A surprise," I mutter. Then, louder. "A surprise? Edward, one friend does not leave another friend a check for twenty thousand dollars!" I realize I'm yelling and take a few deep breaths to maintain my self-control.

Hesitation replaces Edward's previously jovial tone. "Are you…mad?"

"Can you just explain this?" I beg, rubbing my forehead in frustration. "_Why _are you writing me checks?"

He laughs again, softly this time. "Not checks, Birdie. Just this one…for now. It's for school. I…" He pauses to clear his throat self-consciously. "I just feel like it's the least I can do, you know? Help you out with your school payments…so you'll have one less thing to worry about."

His gesture is genuine and thoughtful and, quite honestly, probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. It hurts me to hurt him, but my pride is delicate, and its maintenance is crucial to my well-being. I've come too far and done too much to start accepting his handouts now. I chose to cut all ties with Edward seven years ago, when _he_ chose not to be involved in his daughter's life and, in doing so, I denied her his name, his existence, _and_ his money.

I'm capable and strong, and I'm proud of all that I've accomplished. Edward's money is the last thing I want from him. It's the last thing I _ever _wanted from him.

"Edward," I say, gently. "That's so thoughtful…"

He sighs wearily. "But?"

"But," I agree, softening my voice. "It's not really appropriate for you to pay for my schooling. I'm appreciative, but this is something I need to do for myself. Does that make sense?"

I can hear the sound of his hands scrubbing harshly through his stubble, a sure sign of his frustration. "Not really, no. I just want to help, Bella. I didn't help for _years. _Please, just…let me help. I have more than I need…more than I know what to do with."

"Thank you," I reply, mustering up my inner strength. "But we don't want your money."

"Well what _do _you want, Bella?" I can hear the exasperation in his voice, and there's a part of me that wonders if I'm unintentionally making this harder than it has to be. What's the harm in just taking his—

No.

No. I refuse to feel like he bought his way back into our lives.

Picking up my pen again, I return to my doodling, lighter now. "The last thing Ava…or I… need from you, is your money. Being in Ava's life—being her _dad_—is about so much more than that," I pause, thinking he'll want to argue his point, but the line remains quiet, save for his soft breathing. "Right now, I'm able to provide for all of Ava's monetary needs. I'm able to be her mom and…so much more. But, Edward, I can't ever be her dad. And, despite my past efforts, neither can Emmett. That's your role…if you're willing to take it."

"I am," he says, calmly, his soft voice making my mind drift to thoughts of where he's at. Is he at work, behind a wide desk? At home, barefoot and reclined against the soft leather of his couch? "I…just…I don't know how."

There's honesty and vulnerability in his admission; a reminder for me that this is something I've taken for granted. I've had seven years to learn how to be a mother to Ava, and I can't expect him to understand how to be a father overnight. He's going to need guidance and instruction; patience, most of all. From me, from himself. From Ava.

"Well," I say. "I think that's something we're going to have to figure out together. The three of us. I think the first step is going to be talking to Ava about you, and I think, if you're alright with waiting a bit longer, that's something I need to do alone."

His laugh drips with self-deprecation. "I'm good at waiting. I've waited years."

His words remind me of a question I've wanted the answer to for several months now. "When did you…" I trail off, suddenly insecure in my scrutiny.

"When did I what?" he presses.

"I just…I wondered when you…you know, changed your mind. Or whatever." The words rush from my mouth, anxious to escape. I've spent years perfecting the art of not caring, and it's suddenly freeing to admit that I did; that I still do.

"About being a dad, you mean?"

"Yeah."

He clears his throat softly as he considers his words. "Despite my actions, I don't know that I ever _didn__'__t _care. I won't lie, though…it took a few years for me to really start regretting my decisions; to wonder what I'd given up. My first two years of school were…intense. I didn't allow myself much time to think about anything beyond where I was going to party, and how I was going to scrape by in my classes." His words are painful, but also expected. I _obviously _didn't think that he'd spent the past seven years abstaining from typical college clichés.

"My grades were suffering, after my second year," he continues, "and my dad threatened to cut me off financially if I didn't get my shit together, so I…did. I cut out the partying and buckled down on my schoolwork, which gave me a clear head and a lot more time to think. I didn't know how old Ava was, exactly, but I had a pretty good idea, and I knew she was growing up without me. Quickly."

Those years—the ones he's referring to—were some of the hardest of my life. But they were also some of the sweetest. "So, you…what? Just—"

"So I got serious about school and followed my dad's footsteps into law. It had been his plan for me since I was a kid, and I wanted to impress him. I wanted to impress…you, when the time came. But, along the way, it also became something I wanted to do for myself. I enjoy practicing law…I just don't like _bankruptcy _law." He sighs heavily, confirming what I'd expected all along: he isn't happy doing what he does.

"And did you?" I ask, curiously. "Did you impress your dad?"

He seems to consider his words carefully before replying. "I think so, yeah. In that one regard, anyway. I'm just not going to spend anymore of my time trying. Despite my past choices, I don't want to be like him."

It's a lot to process, right now, all this new information about Edward. It's a glimpse into a large piece of his past that we weren't a part of, and that hurts. But I'm glad he felt comfortable enough to share it with me, and I know it needed to be said. It's the first of many, many questions I have for him.

We spend the next few minutes discussing the best way to approach the topic of Edward with Ava, agreeing that I should talk with her alone, and that I should give her only as much information as her six-year-old heart can handle. What happens after that, we'll play by ear.

"So, about the check," Edward says, just as we're wrapping up our call. "Will you take it? Please."

Sighing heavily, I prepare to delve back into my list of reasons why I won't accept payment for my schooling. "No, Edward, I—"

"For Ava," he interrupts. "Will you keep it for Ava? You can use it to start a small savings fund for her…" he hesitates, navigating the delicate topic carefully. "Unless you've, you know, already done that, or whatever…"

Speechless, I take a moment to consider what he's offering. I've never had enough to put anything back toward savings for Ava, instead having exactly enough to get by. I'd be crazy to deny her the opportunity for a future with less college debt and more options. Alternately, what am I agreeing to if I accept money from Edward on her behalf? Does his money buy his entrance to her world? Does it come with strings and stipulations?

"I'll think about it," I say honestly.

"Sure," he agrees. "Just let Emmett know what you decide. He's got the check, and it's not going anywhere. Okay?"

"Okay," I reply. "And Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

**-0-0-0-**

I give myself permission to shelve thoughts of Edward's money, and instead spend the next several weeks planning and preparing for the heavy moment I've known was coming for some time: telling Ava about Edward.

I had one, major stipulation for Edward before we could move forward: there's no _out_ once you're _in. _Ava's life will not include a revolving door father. If he chooses to know her, there's no turning back.

It's a big decision and an even bigger commitment, and I'd been prepared to give him as much time as he needed to come to terms with what it could mean for his future, but he assured me he's had plenty of time to decide—the last seven years, he said—and he's not changing his mind. Not now; not ever.

There's no easy way to have a conversation of this magnitude with your six-year-old. I've skimmed library books for topics about separated parents and absentee fathers, and I've accepted advice from my family. But our situation is unique, and there aren't many books of the "How to Tell Your Daughter Her Father Finally Decided to be a Dad" variety.

Edward and I have discussed how we'd like the conversation to go, at length. He seemed delighted to be included in the planning, and his enthusiasm made it surprisingly easy to allow his input. Our first time working together as co-parents was, seemingly, a success.

We'd agreed that the less information I dump on Ava, the better. She's too young to understand the details, and her self-worth is the most important factor in all of this. As the time for me to talk with her nears, my fears seem to grow stronger. I worry that she'll realize she was unwanted, even temporarily, and that she'll feel the first pangs of an abandonment that she didn't even realize she was a part of.

As is the case with most things in parenting, no amount of over-analyzing and extensive planning can prepare you for a child's questions. It may have been for the best, in fact, that our conversation happened organically one Saturday, without much fanfare at all.

"_Cora__'__s dad broke his leg,__"__ Ava announced, out of the blue. We were side by side at the kitchen counter, chopping veggies for chicken noodle soup (her favorite, not mine). Emmett was out with Rose, leaving Ava and me to fall into a quieter, calmer time of togetherness in his absence. I pressed my free hand against Ava__'__s back, a silent reminder to practice caution when standing on a step-stool. _

"_That__'__s awful,__"__ I said, moving a pile of washed celery sticks over to her cutting board. __"__How__'__d he hurt his leg?__"_

_Her tongue peeked from the corner of her lips as she concentrated on making perfectly spaced cuts down the length of the crunchy stalks with her kid-safe knife. __"__I dunno,__"__ she shrugged. __"__He was playing with her brother or something, I think.__"_

"_Well that__'__s too bad,__"__ I replied. __"__I hope he__'__s okay soon.__"_

"_Cora__'__s brother is funny. He never wears pants!__"__ She covered her mouth to giggle, and I placed my hand against her back again, keeping her from falling. She regained her balance, and I returned my attention, once again, to the carrots on my bamboo board. _

"_I want a brother,__"__ she announced. _

_If she noticed the way my knife jumped, she didn__'__t mention it. __"__A brother, hmm,__"__ I acknowledged, allowing her to carry the conversation. _

_Her tiny fingers pushed her pile of chopped veggies off to the side as she shook her hair from her face. __"__Yeah. Just like Cora, except I want my brother to wear pants.__"__ I lifted my shoulder to hide my smile; she hates being laughed at. _

"_Well?__"__ she pressed. __"__Can you get me one?__"_

"_One what?__"_

_She giggled again. __"__A brother!__"_

"_Grab that pot, will you, Bug?__"__ I guided her to the cabinet under the stove, an attempt at buying myself an extra moment of time. _

_Once the pot was on its burner, we settled ourselves in front of our chopping boards again. __"__A baby brother would need a mommy _and_ a daddy,__"__ I told her gently. _

"_Nu-ah,__"__ she argued. __"__I don__'__t have a daddy and I used to be a baby.__"__ Her words implied that she__'__s far beyond babyhood, and my heart tugged a little at the reminder. _

_I put my knife down smoothly and turned to face her, propping my hip against the counter. My hands gentled her hair back from her face, and her innocent green eyes pinned me down, awaiting my explanation. __"__You _do_ have a daddy, sweet girl,__"__ I smiled at her to show her that I was okay. She was okay. _We _are okay. __"__All children have a mommy and a daddy. It__'__s just__…__sometimes, they can__'__t be there.__"_

_She grabbed the dishtowel sitting on the counter and began twisting it in her hands. I recognized the gesture as her way of processing what I__'__d said and busied myself with my chopping again, allowing her as much unscrutinized time as she needed. _

"_Why can__'__t they be there?__"__ she asked finally. Her voice was strong and clear, and for that, I was grateful. While she was obviously giving our conversation plenty of thought, possibly even comparing it to her own situation, she didn__'__t appear to be upset about anything I__'__d said. _

"_Well,__"__ I said, popping a piece of chopped carrot between her tiny pink lips. __"__Sometimes they might get sick and die, like Great Grandma Swan. Or sometimes they might have to go away for work.__"_

"_Like Cora__'__s Uncle? He__'__s at the war.__"_

_I smiled at her softly. __"__Exactly.__"_

"_Did my daddy die?__"__ she asked, quietly. I knew where this line of questioning would take us, and being prepared didn__'__t make the actuality of it any easier. _

_Bending, I gathered her up and sat her on the counter so that we could see eye to eye. I wanted her to know she had my complete attention. __"__No,__"__ I answered her. __"__He didn__'__t die. And he didn__'__t go to war. Sometimes, mommies or daddies might feel like they don__'__t know how to be good to their babies. Sometimes they might be too young to know how to take care of them.__"_

_She played with the small, green birthstone I wore on a chain around my neck, sliding it back and forth through her small hands. __"__Did my daddy know how to take care of me?__"__ she asked. _

"_He didn__'__t.__"__ I told her, placing my hands on top of hers. __"__Your daddy was so young when he heard that you were going to be born. He wasn__'__t sure if he could be a good daddy to you, and that scared him.__"__ I released her hands and tapped her tiny, upturned nose. __"__But do you know what?__"_

_She giggled and swatted at my hand. __"__What?__"_

"_The very first time I saw your sweet face, do you remember what I said?__"_

_Her giggles turned to full-blown laughter, but still, she played my game. __"__What?__"_

"_I said, __"__Oh what a sweet little girl, I wish she was mine.__""_

"_I _am _yours!__"__ she squealed, as though we hadn__'__t done this a million times. _

"_Oh yeah!__"__ I pretended to remember. __"__You _are _mine!__"__ Tickling her sides, I lifted her from the counter and tucked her small body into mine. __"__And do you know what else?__"__ I whispered against her head._

"_What?__"__ she replied, her little girl voice muffled from its place in the crook of my neck._

"_I will never, ever stop loving you.__"_

"_I love you too, Momma.__"_

_Giving her one, last squeeze, I placed her back on her stool and we returned our attention to the pot on the stove and the pile of chopped veggies nearby. _

_We busied ourselves with soup making for a bit, and when the lid was in place and all that was left was to wait, I followed Ava to the sink so we could wash our hands. __"__Hey, Bug?__"__ I said, as we were waiting for the water to turn warm. __"__Are there any questions you__'__d like to ask me? About your Daddy?__"_

_She rubbed her hands together vigorously, lathering the soap until the bubbles spilled out from between her slender fingers. __"__Hmm,__"__ she said, lips pursed, a facial expression I recognized in myself at times. __"__Did he have a name?__"_

_I bit down on my cheek to hide my smile and helped her rinse the bubbles from her hands. __"__He _does _have a name,__"__ I told her. __"__His name is Edward.__"_

"_Edward Swan?__"__ she said, rolling it around on her tongue as though it had a taste. _

"_No, Edward Cullen,__"__ I corrected her casually, choosing to save the baby/father name explanation for another day. _

_Her hands were pink and soft as I dried them between a plush kitchen towel. __"__Where is he?__"__ she asked suddenly, a question so broad in its directness that it momentarily took me aback. _

"_He__'__s here, actually,__"__ I told her, and then quickly adjusted my statement. __"__In town. He lives here, like us.__"_

_Her little eyes went wide with surprise. __"__Is he still too young?__"_

"_No,__"__ I replied, shaking my head. __"__He__'__s not. He__'__s all grown up now.__"__ I bent down to her level, and held her clean hands in mine. __"__He__'__d like to meet you, Bug. What do you think about that?__"_

_She shrugged her shoulders and bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet. __"__Sure,__"__ she said, already preoccupied. __"__Is Rose coming over tonight? She said she__'__d play Blokus with me.__"__ Her abrupt change of topic was typical, leaving me pleasantly surprised that I had managed to get as far with her as I had. _

"_Grab my phone and we__'__ll give her a call.__"__ She gave me a quick nod before spinning on her socked heel and skipping out of the room._

Edward blows out a breath as soon as my run-through comes to a close. "Whew," he says softly, and it occurs to me that he's nervous. "Was that…good? Her reaction?"

We're sitting across from each other in a booth at the Mexican restaurant down the street from my house. Ava's unexpected early bedtime—the result of a full day of swimming at my parents'—left me with several hours to kill this evening, the perfect opportunity for me to finally fill Edward in on yesterday's conversation with Ava.

"I think so," I shrug, swirling my chip in the bowl of salsa that sits between us. "She didn't seem upset, but she also didn't seem…obsessed, which is a good thing, I think."

He frowns. "So what's next?"

"We'll give her some time," I say. "A week or so to see if she brings it up again. If she doesn't, and everything seems okay, then we can set up a time for you to come over and meet her." I pause, chip halfway to my mouth. "If that's what you want, I mean."

"It is," he says simply. "I can't wait to meet her."

I return my eyes to the basket of chips between us, half of which I've already eaten. Alone. "You're not eating?" I ask, nodding at the still-clean tabletop in front of him. My side is littered with salt flecks and chip crumbs. Casually, I brush them aside and dust off my hands.

Edward shakes his head. "No. I don't do spicy."

I snort. "You're kidding."

"I'm a huge wimp," he chuckles, shrugging.

"This stuff is tomato sauce," I scoff, pointing to the small bowl of watery red between us. "Come on. Try it."

My hand extends half way to his mouth before I even have a chance to think about the level of intimacy that feeding another person entails. His thick eyebrows shoot up as my salsa laden chip nears his lips, and his mouth falls open, likely from habit, but possibly from shock. Embarrassed, I shove the chip into his mouth and retreat to my side of the table. "There," I gesture toward the bowl again. "See? It's nothing."

Edward's brows pull together in distaste as he chews with unnaturally exaggerated force. "'S mwful," he mumbles, mouth still full. Finally, he forces the chip down with an audible gulp and reaches for the bottle of beer sitting near his napkin. I try not to stare as he takes several, deep pulls, his stubble-covered throat bobbing as he swallows.

"That bad, huh?" I laugh.

He winces once more and nods his head, squeezing my knees between his own beneath the table. "I'm gonna have to pay you back for that," he says, playfully. "It's in the rules."

"Mmhmm," I grin. I'm just about to ask him for a copy of the rule book when our waitress appears at our sides, tapping her order pad and asking us what we'd like.

I stifle a laugh when Edward orders the most bland thing on the menu, earning me a playfully narrowed glare. While I prattle off my order, he collects our menus and hands them over to the waitress, thanking her as she departs.

"So," he grins, his hands folded across the tabletop, his knees pressed gently against mine.

I raise my eyebrows at his silliness. It's so rare—and fun—to see him laid back and smiling.

"So," I laugh.

"How's school?" he asks, lifting his beer to his lips and taking a pull, his eyes tracking mine even as he drinks.

I shake my head. "Nuh-uh. No school talk tonight."

"No?" he chuckles. "How 'bout work, then? How's that?"

I crinkle my nose in distaste. "None of that, either."

His lips twist into a smile. "What's safe?" The boyish way he reclines in his seat, coupled with the spark in his green eyes, reminds me of how he used to tease me when we were younger. The progress we've made recently is slowly numbing the pain of those memories, and I happily welcome the flutter of butterflies housed in my belly.

I purse my lips in concentration while I consider his question. "Anything but school and work," I reply, leveling his intense gaze with one of my own.

Smirking, he raises one brow in silent inquiry.

I squint at him in confusion. "What?"

"Boyfriends."

"What about them? Wait…no. What?" I blush and shake my head. His line of questioning is clear, and my inexperience must show in the flush of my cheeks.

I frown and he grins. "Is there one?" he says, smile widening.

I snort. "Hardly."

"Me neither."

"No boyfriends for you?" I tease. "I'm shocked. You're so pretty."

The tips of his ears turn pink, but he laughs good-naturedly.

I rush to fill the silence with questions of my own before he can turn the tables back on me. "So the hot blond at the sushi place that night…what about her? Girlfriend material?"

He takes a sip of his beer. "God, no."

"No?"

Frowning, he picks at the edge of the label on his bottle. "No. She was just a nameless face in a long line of nameless faces."

I wince. "Nice."

We sit staring at each other in awkward silence until he reaches across the table to grab my hand, his fingers cold and slightly damp from his beer.

His green eyes, so like his daughter's, bore into mine. "She meant nothing," he says, voice low and controlled. "They _all _meant nothing."

Suddenly uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has taken, I pull my hand back from Edward's and busy myself with unrolling my napkin and arranging my silverware. "So they're all just a means to an end for you," I clarify. "Got it."

"No," he says sharply. "Well…yes, but…not anymore." His leg, still pressed against mine underneath the table, begins to bounce rapidly. "Bella." He's silent while he waits for me to stop my needless arranging and look up at him, and when I do, his expression is both eager and genuine. "What I'm trying to tell you, is that all that…stuff? It's not who I want to be anymore. I want to be good for Ava." He gives me a small, sad smile and reaches back across table to grab my hand again. "And for you."

I shake my head. "That's nice to hear, Edward, but you should know right now, I'm not a…uh, nameless, faceless kind of girl." Embarrassment colors my cheeks when I think of the things Edward must remember about me that disprove the point I'm trying to make. "Not anymore," I amend. "So whatever your expectations are with me, you should probably lower them significantly."

"I wouldn't expect that of you, Bella," he says softly. "I was wrong to take advantage of you back then. That won't ever happen again." He squeezes my hand once, his warm thumb rubbing circles over my knuckles. His words are powerful, and they cut right to the heart of my biggest fears and insecurities. If what he's saying is true, then my biggest hesitations about letting him into Ava's life have been alleviated. Maybe he really is prepared to turn his life around, and leave his less than desirable actions in the past.

The real question is, am I prepared to let him?

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>

**Many thanks to the wonderfully selfless Rochelle Allison, for her kindness and for her time. **

**Thanks also to those who take the time to review. I'm grateful for each one. **

**Best,**

**RF**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**-0-0-0-**

The door squeaks on its hinges when I press my ear against it. Startled, I back away slightly, glancing over my shoulder to make sure I'm still alone. When I know the coast is clear, I lean forward once more, softer this time.

"…go, or just hang out here?" The thick wood distorts my brother's voice, but I'm able to understand him well enough.

"No, man, let's go out. There's nothing to do around here."

Edward.

And after an entire week of avoiding me, I'm guessing I'm the "nothing" in the "to do around here" equation.

My cheeks burn with shame and my eyes fill with unshed tears. Silently, I back away from my brother's bedroom door as gently as I'm able; the fear of being found out temporarily greater than the pain in my chest.

-0-0-0-

I've spent my entire summer lusting after Edward, and while I've managed to keep up with my reading list for school, maintaining friendships has fallen by the wayside during my days spent sleeping and lounging and staring.

With summer break coming to a close and exactly one month left until school starts, I figure I'd better get busy repairing my relationships. Relation_ship_, rather.

My mom's in the kitchen, shoving food in and out of the freezer harshly. Getting ready to pack the camper, from the looks of it, although why she does everything with such intensity, I'll never understand. She only knows one speed: rapid.

"Mom," I call, and wait for her head to appear around the freezer door. "Do you care if I invite Angela over to hang out this afternoon?"

Her pencil-drawn eyebrows dip in confusion. "Why would I care, Bella? Do whatever you want." She bends to grab a vacuum sealed bag of chicken cutlets and heaves them into the small space between several packages of frozen corn. "I bought so much food for our trip, and I don't see how it will ever fit! I'm thinking about doing a chicken in the crock-pot and…"

I turn softly and slip out, ducking into the unused office across the hall to dial Angela. Thankfully, she says she's free and agrees to come over for awhile. While I wait, I busy myself on my dad's laptop, double checking my reading list and scouring for any new, important information about the upcoming school year.

Angela arrives faster than I'd expected, and I snag her at the front door and haul her straight up to my room. The less interaction she has with my weird family, the better.

"You cut your hair," I squeal, pointing an accusing finger at Angela's layered locks. "I love it."

"Do you?" She frowns slightly as she shakes it back and forth, the shorter pieces falling in front of her eyes. "I think it's too short."

"No way," I reply. "It's great. I've been wanting to cut mine, too. It's so dry from all the chlorine." I run my fingers through my sun-kissed hair. It feels like hay, and it kind of looks that way too, and I'm suddenly embarrassed at the thought of how basic and bland I'll look standing next to Angela at school this year. This summer has changed her, and while it's changed me too, my changes are secrets I keep buried deep inside.

Her eyes widen as she looks me up and down. "You got boobs!" she gasps, pointing back and forth at my tank-top clad chest. "And big ones!"

"No I didn't," I hiss, covering my chest with my arms. "It's just the shirt." I don't know why I'm embarrassed, or why I'm denying what's obvious. I really _did _get boobs. They appeared overnight, and they're big and awkward and sore. All the time I spent wishing for them and, as it turns out, they're really not that great.

"Did someone say boob?" Emmett's muffled bellow comes from down the hall.

I give Angela a scathing look. "Do you see why you can't say these types of things in this house?" I mutter, gesturing to my closed bedroom door. Then, turning, I clear my throat delicately. "Fuck off, Emmett!" I bellow back.

I roll my eyes. "I'm sorry," she giggles. "I forgot he's always listening."

We settle back against the wall beside my bed and busy ourselves looking at the magazines Angela brought. "He's actually been busy this summer," I tell her, pointing out a hairstyle that I like. "It's been quiet. Very…nice."

She snorts. "Emmett? Quiet? I find that hard to believe." Setting her magazine aside, she grins at me and nudges my knee. "Unless _Edward _is rubbing off on him."

"Shh," I hiss. "They hear everything." I hurry to the door and open it a crack to peak outside. Thankfully, the hallway is blessedly empty. Returning to the bed, I flop down beside Angela and lean in closely, keeping my voice at a whisper. "Edward and I…we…" I wave my arm back and forth between the two of us, summarizing the biggest milestone of my sheltered life with a sweep of my hand. I'm suddenly desperate to share the secret I've been keeping.

Wide eyed, she shakes her head in confusion. "You…_what_?"

"We…you know," I tell her, still gesturing. It still sounds surreal to my ears, even weeks later, but as I speak it aloud, even indirectly, it feels as though I'm giving it permission to be true.

"You did THAT?" she screams, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Shh!" I hush her again. "No one knows. You have to be quiet."

We fall silent for a moment as she takes in what I've just shared. "I'm sorry," she says, bewildered. "I just…I can't believe it. _You _had sex with Edward. Edward Cullen!"

"Oh my—Angela," I hiss, gripping her elbow. "You have _got _to be quiet!"

Once my friend composes herself, we whisper-talk our way through the details. It feels so good to share this with her, to allow myself to be young and silly for a change. She collapses in giggles when I hold my hands up to show her what Edward looked like under his pants, and she gasps when I tell her how it felt when he was over me and in me and coming undone.

"That's so hot," she wails, fanning herself with her magazine.

It's not until she asks me where he got the condom, that I wonder—for the first time—if maybe there's a glaring detail I failed to consider.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

When Edward and I decided on a park, it sounded like a really good idea. Nice, neutral ground, plenty of distractions to keep things lighthearted and fun. When we decided that it should just be us—no uncles or friends or newly informed grandparents—that, too, sounded like a great idea.

In reality, though, it's cold and windy, and I feel exposed and vulnerable without the security of my brother and his girlfriend by my side to hold my hand and keep me steady when Ava meets her dad for the first time.

Despite the cool weather, sweat slicks my palms as I watch Ava interact with a little boy her age near the slides. Every so often, I scan the parking lot for Edward's car, although there's still a few minutes left before he's due to arrive.

We've been preparing for this day all week. Ava knows her dad is going to join us at the park while she plays, but she's surprised me with her lack of interest. Normally, she's an overly inquisitive girl, asking questions about the whys and hows and whens of everything, but this topic she's left mostly untouched. I'm unsure if this means she's okay or bothered or completely ruined by what we've done to her, and I'm afraid to analyze it much further.

She needs this, I tell myself.

Right?

She deserves to know her father. And he deserves to know her.

Right?

These thoughts play on a constant loop in my head as I watch my daughter interact with her new friend. She points to something across the playscape and he takes off running, following her command. I'm so proud of this assertive girl of mine. I could learn a lesson or two from her.

"Everything okay?" Lost in the sound of my own thoughts, I didn't hear him approach. Edward rounds the bench slowly—tentatively, even—and sits beside me. He's dressed in faded jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and he looks every bit like the young dad he's hoping to be.

"Hi," I say, smiling at him. "Everything's good. How're you?"

He blows out a big breath and purses his lips. "Okay, I think." His eyes, wide and vulnerable, never leave mine.

"Nervous?" I ask gently.

His leg bounces anxiously, but he grins widely at me. "Very," he admits. "But so ready."

He still hasn't looked at the playground. Maybe it's nerves…or maybe he's waiting for me to give him permission to see his daughter for the first time.

"Edward," I say in an attempt at sounding far more confident than I really feel. "Do you want me to show you where Ava is? Maybe you can watch her play for a little while and let her see that you're here before we call her over."

He scratches the back of his neck as his eyes flicker to the playground. "Yeah," he says softly before turning back to me. "Where is she?"

As if she's tethered to a string attached to my heart, I spot Ava instantly. She's hunkered down with the same boy, drawing pictures in the sand under a vacant swing set.

Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Edward's eyes again and point in her direction. "There she is," I murmur. "Playing under the swings. Do you see her?"

Edward doesn't answer me verbally, he simply stares, his jaw tensing and releasing, his rapid breathing making his chest rise and fall quickly. I try to view Ava through his eyes; see what he must see as he looks at her. She's dressed herself today, her striped tights clashing wildly against her print skirt. In just a moment he'll learn that it matches her personality perfectly. Her light hair blows back from her face, revealing a freckle dusted nose and smile so wide it takes my breath away.

"God, Bella," he breathes. "She's beautiful." The bittersweetness of this moment squeezes my heart and, in turn, my eyes pool with tears. She _is _beautiful. And I never thought I'd see this day.

Edward grabs my hand and holds it gently. "She's amazing," I agree. "Are you ready to meet her?"

He clears his throat twice before croaking out a hoarse, "Yeah." Sitting straight, he runs his hands through his hair and tries to compose himself, a gesture that seems boyishly charming in the face of such a heavy situation.

"Hey," I whisper, leaning in to him slightly. "This is going to be fine. You're going to love her."

The weight my words carry, while unintended, seems to be all that Edward needed to hear. He grins, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs before clapping them together once. "I'm ready," he replies.

"Ava!" I call loudly, waving my arm to get my girl's attention. She notices me immediately and waves back, before turning to the boy in the sandbox and gesturing our direction. Standing, she dusts her hands off on the back of her pants and begins her normal skip-walk-jump decent over to our bench.

The closer she gets, the more Edward seems to realize how much she favors him, and his knee starts jumping again. I've had nearly seven years to study every inch of her, but he hasn't, and I wonder what it must feel like to see her for the first time.

Her eyes flicker to Edward briefly as she nears, but just like any other stranger sitting next to me on a park bench, she doesn't pay him any attention. "That's Parker," she says, climbing onto the bench beside me and pointing out her new friend. "He's in 2nd grade at my school."

"Yeah?" I say, nodding. "Is he nice?"

She sighs wearily. "I guess. He kept trying to bulldoze everything, but I finally got him to focus on something else." She stands up and walks to the edge of the playground, as if she's supervising him from afar.

Edward snorts softly beside me.

"Hey, Ava," I say, calling her back over. I hold her hands when she's close enough and speak to her quietly, knowing she'll be unhappy if I draw any unwarranted attention her way. "Do you remember how I told you that your daddy was going to join us at the park today, so that he could meet you?"

She nods her head stiffly and cuts her eyes to Edward. As usual, she's far more observant than I've given her credit for.

I turn toward Edward, who's waiting patiently next to me on the bench. "This is him, Ava. We talked about his name. Do you remember?"

"Yeah." She throws a tiny wave his way. "I said Edward Swan and you said, no, Edward Cullen."

Edward throws his head back and laughs. His smile, genuine and bright, must ease any discomfort she felt at meeting this new stranger, because she giggles along with him, shrugging as if she's unsure what they're laughing at.

"Whoa," Edward says, nodding at her smiling mouth. "How many teeth have you lost?"

"Four," she boasts. "Most in my class."

Edward whistles, shaking his head. "The most in your entire class? That's pretty impressive."

Ava shines with pride, and if it were anybody else, I probably wouldn't think twice about this conversation, but Edward's not anybody else. He's her _dad, _and because of that, there's weight and power in each of his words and all of his actions.

"When I was little boy, I lost two teeth at the same time," he says, pausing while Ava climbs onto my lap, situating herself so that she can see him. "And my little sister hadn't lost any, so guess what she did?"

"What?" Ava whispers, wide-eyed.

"She started tugging at her teeth," he says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Until, eventually, one finally fell out."

I'm impressed with Edward's ease around Ava. He laid-back and calm with her, not at all overpowering or obnoxious like adults tend to be when they're talking to kids.

_He'll be a good dad someday. _The thought pops into my head before I can stop it, and I mentally reprimand myself for my wandering mind. He already _is _a dad, and prior to this little chat he wasn't so great.

Ava tells Edward about the loose tooth status of nearly every kid in her class, and he listens intently, nodding when he needs to, and laughing when she's cute. From my angle, I can see the profiles of their faces, and the similarities are striking: eyes that crinkle at the corners when they smile, same dark hair, same pouty lips.

Abruptly, Ava stops talking and stares at her father. "How old are you, anyway?" she asks him.

"I'm twenty-five," he answers, leaning against the back of the bench and catching my eye.

Ava plays with my necklace distractedly. It's something she does when she's uncomfortable, a sign of her insecurity. "My mom said you were too young to be my dad," she says quietly. "Are you all grown now?"

Edward looks stunned momentarily, but then his face softens into a smile, and he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry I acted too young to be your dad, Ava. I made a mistake…but I think I'm old enough now. Would it be alright if I try again?"

Still focused on my necklace, she shrugs her small shoulders and gives him a tiny nod. Edward glances at me over the top of Ava's head, and I offer him a smile. He gives me a wide smile of his own. "How do you feel about ice cream?" he asks Ava.

Ava leaps from my lap and bounces up and down on the balls of her feet. "Ice cream's my favorite! Right, Mom?"

Nodding, I gather my bag and her jacket from underneath the bench. "Why don't you go tell Parker goodbye and then we'll head out. Sound good?"

She runs away excitedly, leaving Edward and me grinning in her wake. "Well," I say, turning to face him. "That went really well. Better than I expected."

His face is flushed pink and his eyes are shining. He looks…happy. "She is…incredible," he says softly. "She's so smart and…feisty." He's right, she's all three of those things, and it thrills me to my core that he sees it too.

He's smirking as he watches Ava say goodbye to her friend. "What?" I tease. "What are you so smug about?"

Pink ears and a few shoulder shrugs are proof that he's embarrassed. "She does look a lot like me, huh?" He finally replies, smile stretching full now, ear to ear.

"Yeah," I mutter, my grin matching his. "Tell me about it."

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Two weeks before school starts, I'm fresh-faced clean and warm under my covers when there's a soft knock at my door. It's obviously Edward—no one else ever comes in my room, especially with the courtesy of a knock. I turn my back to the door and burrow further beneath the protection of my thin bedding, feigning sleep. The rush of cool air from the hallway ruffles my sheet and kisses my exposed shoulders as the door cracks open. I listen to Edward's soft footsteps growing closer, his gait stilted as he navigates the piles of books and mounds of clothes littering the path around my bed.

The mattress dips slightly, and I feel the warm heat of his breath against the back of my neck. He smells like cheap beer. "Birdie?" he whispers. "You awake?" His face nuzzles into the soft spot between my shoulder and my ear, his lips making tiny trails up and down my flushed skin.

"No," I murmur.

His response is a low chuckle, and it ignites my traitorous body in gooseflesh. Pulling my shoulder up to squeeze him out, I burrow further beneath my sheets. "Go away," I tell him. "I'm sleeping."

Edward ignores my command, lifting my sheet and pressing his fully clothed body against mine instead. "You're not," he whispers, his hot breath licking the back of my neck in waves. He presses his jean-clad knees against the back of mine, the denim rough on the sensitive skin there. Gripping my hip tightly, he pulls himself flush with my body. "You smell so good," he whisper slurs.

We fit perfectly, wrapped up in each other like this. He's warm and heavy and he gives so good. My body must recognize him from the last time we were together, because it sings loudly in response to his ministrations.

He rough hand tickles my belly as he pushes his way beneath my tank top, gripping and tugging on my tender nipples.

"Edward?" I whisper.

Pulling on my hip again, he turns me to my back and leans over me, wedging his knee between mine and spreading my legs apart. "Hmm," he breathes into my neck.

"Edward," I say again. "Stop." I push on his shoulders lightly, squirming beneath him until he finally rises on his elbows to look at me. "What is this?" I whisper, my voice weak and fragile in the darkness of my bedroom.

"What do you mean?" His dark eyebrows furrow into two, bold stripes across his pale forehead. "What's what?"

I don't think he's drunk, but he's obviously been drinking. His words are sharp and clear, an underlying hint of exasperation laced through them. Should I stop talking when we're with each other this way? As is always the case with Edward, I'm uncertain. I want to be more than just his best friend's little sister conveniently sleeping down the hall.

I grab his head in both hands and pull him to me, kissing him deep and hard like I know what I'm doing. Like I didn't learn it from him.

His kisses are slow and thorough, while his hips are sharp and quick, pushing against the ache between my legs. "You good?" he whispers against my mouth, voice hoarse.

Fat tears hit my pillow like raindrops, and I wonder if he can hear them; if they sound as loud to him as they do to me. Angry, I blink them away and nod. I hate my heart. I hate the way it calls his name.

"I'm good," I say through a watery smile. "It's just…I just wondered, you know…" I pull my hands away from him and cover my face in embarrassment.

"What?" he asks, voice wary. "You wondered what?"

Muffled by my hands, my voice sounds like a little girl's, and I hate that too. "Where you've been…or whatever. The past few weeks?"

He sighs heavily and sits up, dropping his feet on the floor and leaning his elbows on his knees. "I've just been hanging out with Emmett," he says, rubbing his jaw. "Why?"

I didn't even think I wanted him here, but my body already feels empty without him and he hasn't even left yet. "It's just been awhile since I last saw you and—"

"I _just _saw you, Bella," he says sharply. "Like a few weeks ago."

It's not as if I needed a reminder, but his harsh words and the annoyed way he said them make me feel needy and clingy. Pulling back from him, I sit up and tuck my sheet underneath my arms. "Yeah, I know," I mutter, properly admonished. "I just wondered if we're, like…together, or whatever?" I rush to finish. "Just…you know, what _is _this. What we're doing?"

Running his hands through his hair roughly, he snorts in annoyance. "It's whatever you want it to be, Bella. Okay?"

"Whatever I want it to be," I repeat.

He stands then, scratching his neck as his eyes flicker to the door. He can't wait to escape from this room. From me. "Yeah…just…Emmett's waiting for me, so I gotta go," he mumbles, already half way out the door.

If I'd know I was already six weeks pregnant with his baby, I might have asked him to stay.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading.<strong>


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**-0-0-0-**

Two weeks into my junior year, I begin to put the pieces together. I haven't had a period in a while—although maybe that's normal? Aside from worrying about its effects on my skin, I've never really given my cycle much thought.

Nothing tastes good anymore, except for grits with lots of salt and butter—but then that's pretty much all I ate over summer break, so maybe my malnourished body has finally adjusted?

Angela won't shut up about how huge my boobs are—but I _am _sixteen, and I've been waiting _years _for something to happen there.

It's not until I begin to notice the sensitive tautness in my lower belly that I start to really worry. _It can't be possible_, I tell myself again and again. _It just can't be_.

But it can, and it probably is, and no amount of chanting will undo the hardness beneath my fingers when I press them against my belly, palpating the firm bulge that wasn't there before. No mantra will reverse the blue veins in my breasts or the bile in my throat, a result of the powerful odor seeping through the school's vents near lunchtime.

A quick internet search confirms my biggest fear and a pregnancy test in the CVS bathroom makes that fear a reality. Sorrowfully, I drop my pants and hang my head. Despite the test's instructions to wait several minutes for results, my two pink lines appear boldly before I've even finished peeing. Just positive wasn't enough; my positive is eager.

There's no way this is happening to me. Like an out-of-body experience, I watch myself, my old life and this hellish reality, colliding together in a dirty public bathroom. There's a brown-haired girl—a child, really—crumpled against a cold, metal stall divider, but she's not me. Her heart is breaking and her life is ruined. Thank God that she's not me.

-0-0-0-

I can't waste any time; I have to tell Edward. Aside from Angela, he's the only one who knows what we did, and I'm anxious to seek his help. Just a few days of keeping this secret to myself has been enough to nearly break me. My parents—busy helping Emmett pack for school— have been blissfully distracted. No one notices the delicate way I brush my teeth just to keep my breakfast down or the sleeve of Saltines that sits near my bed. More than ever, I attempt to simply fly under the radar in own home.

My only experience with Edward has been the product of sneaking around, and he's avoided me like the plague for the past few weeks, so I'm unsure about how to get him alone. Thankfully, I don't have to worry long. His mom's car—the same car that unknowingly played a monumental role in all of this—sits parked in our driveway when I get home from school one Tuesday. It's been three days since I saw those two pink lines, and I'm beyond ready to tell Edward. He'll know what to do, and if he doesn't, he'll know who to ask.

I don't get the opportunity to catch him alone until late that night, after my parents are asleep. He and Emmett are carrying boxes from my brother's room to the garage—a path that takes them right in front of my bedroom door.

"Edward," I hiss when he passes by, trailing Emmett with a large, cardboard box marked VIDEO GAMES.

He pauses warily outside my door, looking as if he hoped he'd be able to sneak by without having to speak to me. Silent, he simply raises his eyebrows in question. The teenage boy equivalent of _What's up? Make it quick._

"I have to talk to you," I whisper, glancing up and down the hallway in search of Emmett. We don't have long until he returns to his room for the next box, and I know he'll think it's weird if Edward's hanging around outside my door. "It's really important."

"I'm loading our stuff," he says, lifting the box slightly as if to prove his point.

I roll my eyes. "Obviously. But this can't wait. Can you come back later? Tonight?"

Pausing, he considers my request. He seems hesitant to agree, afraid I'm going to get clingy or needy right here on the spot.

"Please," I beg. "We have to talk."

Nodding, he turns away. "Yeah, okay," he mumbles, already heading down the hallway. "Later."

Later looks like 2am, and by that time I'm already fast asleep. My tired body needs all the rest it can get these days, I guess. I'm usually asleep early and awake late, another obvious sign that I'd ignorantly overlooked.

Edward doesn't slide into my bed this time. He doesn't press his body against mine or move his hips just so. He doesn't even whisper me awake. "Bella," he murmurs sharply, shaking my shoulder. "Bella, wake up."

In my sleepy-dreamy state, I'm momentarily confused to see him standing by my bed, hovering over me. I smile at him and my stomach flutters in that way it always does when he's in my room. But when reality seeps into my thoughts, and I remember why he's here and what I have to tell him, the butterflies in my belly start to flap their wings for all the wrong reasons.

Climbing to my knees, I balance myself on my mattress so that I can see Edward's face. His eyes follow the path of my too-big sleep shirt as it slips off one shoulder and slides down my arm. "Emmett's still up," he whispers, glancing over his shoulder worriedly. "I tried to wait him out, but I don't think he plans on sleeping."

Nodding, I hop down and cross my room to close the door softly; the poster tacked to the back fluttering along behind it. My pink helmet hangs off the doorknob and there are stickers on my light-switch plate that I put there when I was twelve.

A measly four years ago.

Edward's sitting on the edge of my bed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else but here. I stand in front of him, shifting my body weight between my feet, debating how I want this to go. "I didn't get my period," I blurt-whisper when I can't keep the secret any longer. "I took a test and…I think I'm pregnant. I…I _know _I'm pregnant."

I'm not sure he's heard me, because his face remains unchanged and he's perfectly still, save for the twitching at the base of his jaw. Eventually, his eyes tighten at the corners as he narrows them in confusion. "How?" he whispers.

"What do you mean _how_?" I ask sardonically. I laugh even though there's absolutely nothing funny about any of this.

Standing, he takes one, large step until he's directly in front of me. Face to chest, what used to make me feel small and adored suddenly makes me feel childlike and inferior. "I thought you were on the pill or whatever," he hisses down at me.

"Why would you think that?" I demand, taking a step back from him. "Ive never even been to the gynecologist!"

"Fuck," he breathes, scrubbing his hands over his face. Then again, louder. "Fuck!"

His reaction scares me. It's not like I expected him to be _happy_, but anger never played a role in any of the scenarios I've spent the past three days envisioning.

"I didn't know what to do," I tell him meekly. "I thought you'd know—"

"Why didn't you say anything?" he demands.

"I just found out," I say defensively. "A few days ago."

The vein in his forehead begins to pulse, the shadows in my room making it look alive. "Not about _that_," he growls. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't on the pill?"

My stomach rolls, the sudden anger I feel toward him taking my entire body by surprise. "Why would I?" I demand. "It's not like I get fucked in cars on a regular basis."

"You fucked my sister?"

Edward's eyes widen and his rapid-breathing chest halts its movements. Turning slowly, I hold my hands out in front of me as if to call off a wild animal. My brother stands just inside my room, the pale light from the hallway outlining his silhouette and detailing his clenched fists and tense shoulders.

"Em," I say gently, my hands still lifted in some type of worthless peace offering. "Just cal—"

"You _fucked _my sister?" he growls again, advancing slowly to where Edward's standing near my bed. Stepping forward, I place my hand on his chest, silently begging him to see me there, to calm down. Nearly twice my size, his body pulsates with rage as his dark eyes pin me down. "You're pregnant?" he whispers, his desperation to be proven wrong making his question sound more like a plea.

I'm too terrified to answer him directly, but he must find all the answers he needs in my face, because he moves me firmly to the side, stepping up so that he towers over Edward. "You fucked my sister!" he roars, pushing hard against his chest.

Edward falls awkwardly back against my bed, one arm bracing his fall, the other held up in defense, willing my brother to listen. "Come on, man," Edward pleads with him. "Chill out for a minute."

Emmett jabs his finger at his friend. "You shut the fuck up," he spits. His body is vibrating with adrenaline, and I'm terrified of what he'll do. I've never seen him this angry; not at me or for me or near me.

He's like a wild animal, caught between fear and rage, but when he turns to me again, I see only sadness in his face. "_Pregnant, _Birdie?" he questions desperately. The sound of his disappointment forces a painful sounding sob from my throat. I don't know what to do. About him, about Edward; about this…_life_, in my belly. I'm just so utterly and completely…_sorry_.

"What have you done?" he wails.

"I don't know," I weep, covering my face with my hands. "I don't know."

Emmett hangs his head while I stand helplessly before him, half dressed; miserable and scared and so very alone.

Edward, having moved from my bed, places his hand on Emmett's shoulder. "I didn't know, man. I just found out, too."

Emmett shrugs his hand off. "Get the fuck off me." Spinning, he grabs his friend by the collar of his shirt, balling it up in his fist as he pulls him flush with his face. Nearly nose to nose, Edward flinches as Emmett's words spray his face with spittle. "_You _did this," he growls, shaking Edward by his shirt. "Fix it."

"I said I didn't know!"

"You didn't know you fucked my sister?" Emmett slams Edward against the wall, shaking the shelf above my bed. "You didn't know you fucked my baby sister!" he screams in his face.

Shrieking, I place my hands over my ears to block out the sound of my brother's anger, then fall to the ground, burying my face in my knees. I'm no match for Emmett's rage; there's no talking him down or pulling him back. He's determined to make his best friend pay.

"You're scaring her, man!" Edward yells.

"Tell me how you're going to fix this," Emmett hisses, holding Edward to the wall with his forearm against his chest. "She's sixteen, you asshole!"

"I don't know! I need time…I can't think…"

Slamming his friend against the wall once more, Emmett's forearms shake with rage. "Get the fuck out of my house, you worthless piece of shit. You could have had any girl…why'd it have to be her?"

My brother's voice breaks on the last word and, devastated, my heart breaks with it.

-0-0-0-

After Edward leaves, Emmett helps me right my room. His shoulders are heavy with the weight of my news, and his normally bright eyes remain downturned and dull. Selfishly, despite all my nervous planning and anticipation the past few days, I never once stopped to think about how my news would effect my brother. Not only is Edward his best friend, but they'll be college roommates in a few weeks, and now—in one night—he's learned that we messed around behind his back all summer, and worse, I'm carrying a constant reminder of our betrayal.

Emmett awkwardly adjusts the sheets on my rumpled bed, lifting them from the floor where they'd been pushed during his and Edward's scuffle. "Are you keeping it?" he asks quietly after several moments of silence.

I'd hoped Edward and I could make this decision together. I don't know how he feels about…_that_, but I'm pretty sure I know—without even having to give it much thought—that the idea of going in one door with this hardness in my belly and coming out another door without it, isn't something I can do. I've never known anyone who had a baby they weren't happy to have, and even though the thought of an actual _baby _being the end result terrifies me, I can't imagine erasing it forever.

Impatient, Emmett continues without my answer. "Because, I hate to tell you this, Birdie, but you shouldn't count on Edward for any of this. He's my buddy, and I've known him forever, but…he's got issues."

"Like what?" I ask quietly.

"His dad's a real tool. He's always riding his ass about…everything. Nothing he ever does is good enough. He's been waiting to get out of here for a long time."

"It's not like I planned this, Em," I say defensively. "I wasn't thinking…_we _weren't thinking."

"Yeah. No shit."

"I'm counting on him to know what to do, because, I mean…I don't even have a car. I don't have a job or any money at all. I don't ev—"

"Bella, Edward doesn't have any of that stuff, either. His dad's got him by the balls. Says the only way he'll pay for his college is if he studies law or whatever. I'm fucking telling you…you're crazy if you think he's going to magically be able to pull you out of this shit."

There's a physical link to him growing inside of me, yet Emmett's words remind me that I don't really know much about Edward at all. I've never met his family or any of his friends. I don't know what he wears to bed or what he looks like when he sleeps. We've never even spent time together that wasn't the result of sneaking around to see how fast and far we could go.

I gather the sheets from my brother's hands and lay them aside. "I'm sorry, Em," I say quietly, feeling small and childish beside him. "I'm sorry I disappointed you."

Standing, he heads for the door, shaking his head sadly. "Don't worry about me," he murmurs without turning around. "You still have to break the news to Mom and Dad."

-0-0-0-

I notice that Emmett stops carrying boxes by my door in the days following our conversation. He doesn't leave his room much, so our paths rarely cross. It's probably for the best, I convince myself. He needs time to absorb all of this—and there's a lot to take in.

I've been picked on by my big brother my entire life. For as long as I can remember, he's in every memory I have; pushing my buttons, taunting and teasing—it's how I knew he loved me. His sudden silence and cold indifference is the most painful part of all.

The weekend before Emmett's scheduled to leave for college, Edward shows up at our house. It's midday on a Saturday, and he's boldly standing in my bedroom doorway. After months of late night visits and secrets behind closed doors, seeing him here during the day takes me aback, and I fight the urge to shush him and hide him quickly out of sight.

We haven't seen each other since I told him about my…pregnancy, and I'm not really sure what his absence means. My heart tells me he's spent the past week accepting and planning and mapping our future, but my brain tells me my heart is stupid.

"Hi," I say eagerly, waving him inside the privacy of my room. His face is unreadable—stoic, even—and his hands are fisted deep in his pockets as he crosses cautiously to where I'm sitting on the edge of my bed.

Grabbing my desk chair, he turns it around and straddles it, crossing his arms and leaning forward. "How's it going?" he asks softly.

"Okay," I reply. "I've felt better, but it's not so bad, I guess."

He looks uncomfortable at the mention of the changes going on inside my body. "Listen," he says, avoiding my eyes. "I don't know if you've…um…decided, or whatever, but…are you going to…to…"

"Am I going to what?" I push him to finish.

"Keep it." He rushes on, staring at a spot just above my left eyebrow. "Because I've got some money saved up, if that's what you're worried about. I can help you out."

"Help me out," I repeat numbly.

I'm momentarily relieved that he's not offering to pay for the procedure that will undo what we've mistakenly done. Instead, this boy—the one I let kiss my mouth and my neck and my _soul—_wants to know if he can simply _help me out._

My stomach rolls and my cheeks flush with heat—from anger or disappointment or mind numbing sadness, I can't really be sure. "What does that even mean," I whisper.

He looks at my left eyebrow, confused. "What?"

"What you said—_help me out_—what does that mean?"

"I don't know." He looks as overwhelmed as I feel. "Just…like…with money, or whatever."

"You can't even acknowledge what we've done, Edward. You won't even say the words, and you want to, what, write me a check and just hope I'll go away? Pretend like I never happened; like _this _never happened?"

He scrubs his fingers through his hair angrily. "What do you want me to do, Bella?" he snaps. "I'm supposed to leave for school in two days. I can't do thi—"

"And I can?" I hiss, throwing my arms out wildly. "I haven't even finished high school, Edward. I'm sixteen! How am I supposed to take care of a baby?"

"I don't know," he replies helplessly. "I don't know what to do." He looks miserable sitting across from me, and for the first time I notice his disheveled appearance. His normally bright eyes are tired and dull, and his skin looks ashen and sickly. I wonder if he's slept, if he's eaten…if he's shared our secret.

We stare at each other awkwardly for several moments, an action that seems absurd in the face of this heavy situation. He chews on his lip and avoids my eyes, but I recognize the moment he finds his resolve; determination tightens the corners of his eyes and straightens his back.

"I have school," he says, firmer this time. "I'll get a job and send you everything I have…but…I can't stay here. I have to leave."

I think I knew this was coming, but thinking it doesn't make hearing it hurt any less. "I don't want your money," I say, crying openly now. "I need _you._"

"What am I supposed to do, Bella?" he says harshly. "Marry you? Stay here and play house? Do you honestly think that would fix any of this?"

"No," I lie.

He leans forward, meeting my eyes for the first time since this awful conversation began. "You don't understand," he pleads, shaking his head. "My dad will kill me. I'll send you everything I ca—"

"Emmett said you'd do this," I snarl, my words mangled by the tears in my voice. "He told me not to count on you for anything. He was right," I sob. "He was exactly right."

The pain that flashes across Edward's face at the mention of my brother feels sickeningly good. I want him to _feel, _to hurt the way that I do. Because while he goes to college, my heart will be breaking. He'll take classes and have friends and work a part-time job, carefully pocketing money for beer from the envelopes of cash he sends me every couple of months, and I'll be here, alone, growing this _life _in my belly.

Gathering my courage, I make my way over to the door, leaning heavily on its knob. "I don't want your money," I repeat, my words sounding hollow in my head. "If you leave…I…I never want to see you again."

As if he was simply waiting for permission, that's exactly what he does.

-0-0-0-

I don't say anything when Emmett joins me at the table for breakfast the following Sunday with swollen hands and bloody knuckles. In some sick, twisted way, I take comfort in knowing that Edward didn't make it out of town without hurting at least a little. It's my brother's face that breaks me, though. Unmarked, it's not the physical pain of a fight between two friends that mars his features, it's sadness at the loss of future and friendship that turns his eyes down at the corners and marks a crease between his brows.

I pretend it's morning sickness, not guilt, that keeps me married to the toilet that afternoon while Emmett carries his college boxes from the garage, back to his bedroom. My brother traded his future for mine when his best friend wouldn't, and that's a debt that can't be repaid.

We sit side by side that night and deliver my news to our parents. Their daughter will be a mother at seventeen and their son gave up his life to help…it's not easy for any parent to hear, and ours are no different. My mom sobs, breaking what's left of my already shattered heart with her disappointed wails. Anger is my dad's emotion of choice, and he slams his palms against the table in outrage when I refuse to tell him who's responsible for the position I'm in. I wonder what he'd say if I told him it was me?

I feel numb when Emmett and I trudge upstairs to our rooms after our mother has cried herself to sleep and our father has locked himself in his study with a bottle of Jameson. Was it really just a few weeks ago that I worried about whether or not I'd fit in at school this year? My life is no longer recognizable. The firm bulge in my belly and the heavy weight of my brother's arm across my shoulders are the only proof I have that I'm not completely and totally alone.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you again and again to Rochelle Allison, whose kindness knows no bounds. Thanks also to Aaliia, Alliz, Tarbecca, Fran, and everyone who so sweetly shared or encouraged my words. And to Tiff, my lovely friend; I am so very thankful for you. <strong>


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

><p>As it tends to do in our busy household, life marches steadily on. Edward's sudden insertion into our world doesn't change the fact that our days are often a blur of school and work and mundane chores. The <em>real<em> change is that he's around for it now.

Despite my efforts to take things slowly, Ava and Edward have been nearly inseparable since the day I introduced them in the park. Alarm bells rang steadily in my head for weeks after their initial meeting. I worried that Edward would drift away once Ava's cuteness and the newness of the situation wore off, but he's continually proven me wrong, sticking around even through the worst of the cranky, overly tired, hunger-induced meltdowns. An expert at redirection and a master at distraction—important tools when dealing with a six-year-old—he's surprisingly great with his daughter. Aside from a few no-juice-before-bedtime reminders and a tutorial or two on carseat technique, his transition from stranger to father has been relatively seamless.

"Is Edward coming over tonight?" Ava asks the moment she climbs in the car after school. These days, if I'm not scheduled to work, Edward spends his evenings with us. With _Ava._

"I'm not sure," I answer her, waiting patiently while she buckles her carseat. "Get strapped in, and then you can call and ask."

I pass my cellphone back to her once she's settled, and she navigates the screen with impressive ease. Finding his name in my contact list, she connects the call, her small feet bouncing against the back of my seat in anticipation.

"Hi, Edward!" she squeals excitedly when he answers. "Are you coming to my house tonight?…Yeah!…Good…Good, I got a'hunnerd, and I moved up a level…"

On the evenings he spends with us, Edward helps Ava with her accelerated reading program for school, a new tradition they both seem to enjoy. He reads to her with patience and enthusiasm, and she hangs on his every word, watching his face instead of the pictures in her book. It's in those moments—when it's obvious that they adore each other—that my full heart aches for how much they _both_ lost during his absence.

Ava wraps up her conversation with her dad and taps her tiny thumb against the screen to disconnect the call. After placing the device in my outstretched hand, she claps excitedly. "He's coming!"

Smiling at her in the review mirror, I toss my phone on the seat next to me and turn my attention to the school's busy parking lot, calmly waiting for a chance to inch my car into the already too-long line. "What should we make for dinner?"

Ava shrugs. "Pizza?"

"We just made pizza last night," I remind her. "How about tacos?"

Her feet resume their bouncing. "I love tacos, and I bet my dad loves them, too."

It's become a bit of a game in the past few weeks, finding all the things Edward and Ava have in common, and just like I suspected, it's not a short list. Not only do they look alike, they share many similar interests, tastes, and preferences, too. Edward seems proud of their similarities, but the more I learn about his idiosyncrasies, the more I realize how little I actually knew about him when we were younger. Most of my memories center around how good he looked and how hard he hurt.

When I turn onto our tiny street, I notice my brother's car and Rosalie's jeep parked in our driveway, a bit of a surprise considering it's just after four o'clock on a weekday and they're normally still at work.

My overly anxious mind spins through scenarios explaining their early arrival while I help Ava unload herself and her bags. Dropping my keys on the table by the door, I call out to let Emmett and Rose know we're home. The only thing worse than catching them in the act, would be _Ava _finding them instead.

"In here!" Rose calls out from the kitchen.

Ava kicks off her shoes and tosses them in the basket by the door, slip-sliding on her socks toward the sound of Rose's voice. Trailing her, I find my brother and his girlfriend, still in their work clothes, bent over several piles of paperwork spread out on the kitchen counter.

"What're you guys doing home so early?" I question, stopping at the sink to wash my hands. The guilty looks I find on their faces when I turn around tells me they're up to something, and the nervous way Emmett wrings his hands means it's probably no good.

Ignoring me, Rosalie crosses to the sink and busies herself with helping Ava rid her hands of school-day germs, leaving my brother to fend for himself. "What's going on?" I press, narrowing my eyes at him in uncertainty.

"Nothing," he chirps, shrugging his massive shoulders with exaggerated casualness. "We had some afternoon meetings that wrapped up early."

Nodding slowly, I raise a suspicious eyebrow to let him know that _I _know, he's full of shit. He's worked at the bank for years—a part-time college job that turned into a full-time career—and I can count on one hand the number of times he's left work early.

Rosalie interrupts our silent conversation from across the kitchen. "Oh, I almost forgot! You'll never guess who asked about you again today, Birdie."

"Who?"

Wagging her eyebrows at me, she covers Ava's ears with her hands. "Sam Miller," she mouths with inflated enthusiasm.

I hate talking about this kind of stuff in front of Ava, and Rosalie knows it. Thankfully, my girl seems oblivious to the sudden turn this conversation has taken, giggling and squirming out of Rose's grasp instead. "Bug," I call. "Can you go pull all of your books out of your backpack and get your agenda ready for me to sign, please?"

Sighing heavily, Ava moans and groans her way out of the kitchen.

"Sam, huh." I mutter once she's out of earshot, rolling my eyes at Rose's failed attempt at distracting me.

Sam Miller works at the bank with Emmett and Rose. I've only been around him a few times, but he's always been witty and likable. His attempts at getting to know me haven't been ignored due to lack of interest on my part, I've just always been too busy to give him much thought.

"Yes, _Sam, huh_." Rosalie mocks me. "He's cute, Bella. And he's fun and—,"

"He's decent, at best," Emmett interrupts, gathering the papers on the counter and shoving them haphazardly into his leather bag. "He's got that ridiculously toothy grin? Like he can't ever _not _smile? It creeps me out."

The two of us crack up while Rose rubs her forehead in defeat. "Why am I not surprised?" she mutters, sighing heavily. She glares at my brother. "What do you know? You dumped that…that _asshole_ right back in her lap."

"Rose," I admonish quietly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure we're still alone. "Not around Ava."

Abandoning his project, Emmett joins me near the refrigerator, lowering his voice so that we we're not overheard. "I didn't _dump _him on her, Rosie," he hisses. "He got his shit together…the rest was up to her. She's an adult, she—,"

"She's too nice! She doesn't—,"

"I'm right here," I snap, throwing the fridge door open harshly. Turning my back to them, I search for tonight's ingredients, taking a moment to gather my composure. "Emmett's right, Rosie," I say eventually, looking my brother's girlfriend in the eye. "I'm a big girl. I might be too nice, but I'm not going to make the same mistake twice."

My phone chimes from its place in my pocket like a perfectly timed explanation point at the end of my poorly delivered speech. Rosalie rolls her eyes when she sees Edward's text on my screen.

_**On my way.**_

Re-pocketing my phone, I face my friend again. "Give Sam my number if you want. Tell him I think it'd be fun to hang out sometime."

"Yeah?" Rosalie beams at me.

"Yeah."

-0-0-0-

Edward shows up just as Rose and Emmett are getting ready to head to her house for the night.

"Feel free to stay and eat," I tell them, pointing at the counter piled high with taco toppings. "There's plenty."

My brother rubs his hands together in anticipation. "I love taco ni—,"

"We're good," Rosalie interrupts, digging a slender elbow into his side. She glances at Edward, her lips pursed in disapproval. "We'll let the three of you have some time alone." After kissing my cheek, she heads towards the living room to find Ava, but not before taking the time to tell me—loudly—that she'll let me know about Sam in the next day or two.

"Who's Sam?" Edward asks casually after Emmett and Rose leave.

Dropping forks on napkins as I set the table, I shrug. "Just a friend of Rose's from the bank."

Edward follows behind me, setting plates on placemats. "A girl friend or a guy friend?"

"Um…guy. Why?"

"Just curious," he replies just as Ava comes barreling through the kitchen. She's carrying a giant, hardback dinosaur encyclopedia and wearing a huge smile.

"Edward! Look! You were right! It says right here, the Brontosaurus actually _is_ the Apatosaurus!"

Edward stops his table-setting rotations immediately and bends down to look at the spot flagged by my girl's thin finger. "Yep," he verifies, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. "Pretty neat, huh?"

Ava slams the book shut and clutches it to her chest, one small foot turned out in a stance of defiance. "I _told _Jackson that today, but he said nuh-uh, it's not true. I told him my da—Edward said so, but he still didn't believe me. Now I have proof!" She thrusts the book in the air victoriously.

Edward and I hide our grins behind our hands. "Alright, my little paleontologist," I say. "It's time to eat. Books in the living room, please."

Ava races from the room while Edward and I settle in our chairs, constructing our tacos in companionable silence. I reach for Ava's plate, only to find that Edward has already snagged it and is busy filling her shell with cheese and lettuce and tomatoes. No meat. Just the way she likes it.

He pushes her plate toward me as though he's overstepped his boundaries. "Sorry," he murmurs.

I smile at him softly, pushing it back. "It's okay," I say quietly. "Go ahead."

Edward and I remain relatively quiet as Ava dominates the conversation over dinner. She tells us both about her day and her schoolwork and her friends, who she likes and who she doesn't. It's actually quite difficult to get a word in, but somehow Edward manages.

"Hey, Ava?" he asks, when there's a lull in her one-sided conversation.

She pushes her bangs to one side, eyeing me sheepishly when she answers him around a too-full mouth. "Yeah?"

"I was thinking, and…um…if you'd like to call me Dad, I think that'd be okay." He moves the food around on his plate nervously. "I mean, I actually think it would be pretty…great."

Ava stares at him, her face unreadable as she processes what he's suggested. Finally, she shrugs a tiny shoulder and gives him a gap-toothed grin. "Oh," she says. "Okay."

Edward beams at me, just like any proud dad would, except that he's not just any dad, he's _her _dad, and he's finally, _finally _earning it.

-0-0-0-

"Damn," I mutter, sighing heavily into the phone. I drop my earrings on my desk and rub my sore earlobe. "No worries; I'll just reschedule."

"I'm so sorry, Birdie," Emmett groans, rumbling the phone against my ear. "It's been a shit day, and I have to fix this stuff. I can't just leave it."

I think Emmett feels worse about my ruined plans than I do. He's stumbled upon an impromptu late-night at the office, which means he's not able to watch Ava while I go to dinner with Sam, the guy Rosalie didn't waste any time fixing me up with. "It's fine, Em. Really. I've got sweatpants and a movie calling my name. I'm happy, trust me."

He snorts into the phone. "See? That's why Rose is going to kill me. She thinks you're going to die old and gray and alone. In sweatpants." He clicks his tongue as though he's just remembered something. "Any chance you could ask Edward to stay with Ava? Or would that be too weird?"

Would it? I'm not really sure. It's not that I don't trust Ava with Edward; on the contrary, he knows her routines inside and out, and she's as comfortable with him as she is with Emmett. I'm confident in Edward's ability to care for his daughter for a few hours…it's the _reason _I'd be asking that has me worried.

"I can't ask Edward to babysit while I go on a date," I respond, shaking my head. "You're right, that _would _be weird."

"Why? It's not like you're cheating on him."

"No, but there's…history there, and I would feel rude even asking."

"Bella," Emmett says, snorting. "You think he'll do the same in return? Say no to everyone just because there's history with you two?" He guffaws loudly. "Has his dick fallen off?"

I haven't given that much thought, actually, but now that my brother's bringing it up I have to admit that expecting Edward to stay single forever doesn't sound very realistic. My stomach rolls at the thought of him eating dinner or reading books or sharing his day with someone besides Ava and me. I push those feelings down before they grow wings and fly.

"I guess you're right," I agree hesitantly. "I'll see if he's free."

Emmett's gleeful laugh rumbles the phone. "Good luck, little sister. I think you're going to need it."

After saying goodbye to my brother, I type a quick text to Edward, asking if he's available this evening.

**Sure…does this have something to do with whatshisface?**

**Sam. And yes.**

**The guy with the big teeth?**

**You've been talking to Emmett, I see. **

**I'll come over after work. That okay?**

**Sounds great.**

Excited about the change of plans, Ava spends nearly an hour getting her room ready for her dad's visit, lining up plastic dinosaurs and straightening piles of plush animals. While she's preoccupied, I take the time to blow-dry my hair and curl its ends, something I haven't done in so long that I'm actually shocked to see how long it's grown. I swipe my lashes with mascara and sweep my cheeks with blush, then step into the pretty green sundress that Rose gave me for my birthday last year. Barely worn wedge heels show off my painted toes, and my previously-shed earrings go back in my ears. My mirror shows an upgraded version of an every-day me, but it's not until I walk into Ava's room that I really feel special.

"Oh Mama! You look so pretty!" she gushes from her spot on the floor, surrounded by fantasy friends.

Checking her nightlight and the plug on her white-noise machine, I ready her room for a smooth bedtime. "Thank you, sweet girl," I reply, holding out a hand for her to grab. "Should we go wait for your dad?"

We read while we wait, although she's too excited to sit still, and I'm too anxious to focus. Finally, a sharp knock indicates Edward's arrival, sending Ava barreling towards the entryway.

"Daddy!" she squeals when I open the door, jumping up just as Edward reaches down, a trick so perfectly timed you'd think they'd been practicing it for years instead of weeks.

"Mmppf," Edward wheezes as Ava clings tightly to his neck. He readjusts her weight, then squeezes her in return. "I missed you," he breathes against her hair.

I rub her back gently from where she sits high in his arms, trying not to ruin their sweet moment. "She's so excited that you're here," I say quietly.

Smiling, his eyes trace me from head to toe and back up again. "You look really pretty," he says softly.

The way we're standing at my door, tentatively sharing compliments, makes this feel like a first date. In reality, he's here to watch our daughter while I go out with someone else, the absurdity of the situation suddenly so overwhelming that I almost laugh.

"Thank you," I say instead, opening the door wider. "Come in."

I follow him as he carries a tired Ava inside the house, admiring the way her small arms circle his broad shoulders.

"Come see my room," she begs him, wiggling to get down. "I set up all my dinosaurs so we can play with them, and I got the book out so we can learn their names."

Edward shrugs out of his hoodie and throws it over the back of the couch, a gesture so familiar and relaxed I have to look away. "I can't wait," he says to Ava, ruffling her tangled hair. "Let me just get all my instructions from Mommy, okay?"

Kneeling, I open my arms to Ava for a hug. "I'll be back soon," I tell her. "Have fun."

She hugs me tightly, giggling when I squeeze her a little too hard. "Bye, Mommy."

Ava heads back to her room as I stand and smooth out the already-wrinkled fabric on my dress. I'm about to thank Edward for watching Ava when I notice his frown. "What's wrong?" I ask, slightly alarmed.

He pushes his hands deep in his pockets, raising his shoulders in a permanent shrug. "He's not picking you up?"

"Oh," I say, slightly defensive. "No. I don't like exposing Ava to that sort of thing, so I'm just going to meet him there."

"Right," he agrees, relaxing his shoulders a bit. "Smart thinking."

"So you're good?" I ask, grabbing my keys and slinging my bag over my shoulder. "You're okay with doing this?"

"I'm good," he confirms, nodding. "What time will you be back?"

"I don't know."

"Mmhm. And you know where you're going?"

"Yes."

He quirks a brow. "And you know how to get there?"

I roll my eyes, trying and failing to hide my smile. "Yes."

"I'll be waiting," he says, smirking at me. "Don't stay out too late."

I laugh outright. "Sure thing, Dad."

-0-0-0-

"You look nice," Sam says, settling across from me at the tiny, cloth-covered table. The candle between us flickers seductively, accentuating his long lashes and full lips.

"Thank you," I reply, unfolding my napkin and placing it in my lap. "You look good, too."

And he does. He's handsome in jeans and a dress shirt, the top button of which is left open to reveal a hint of white undershirt, the contrasting color and dim lighting making his skin look golden.

The waitress appears to collect our drink orders, offering us a slew of wine choices from a special menu. Once we've ordered, she disappears, leaving us alone once more. An awkward silence settles over us briefly, but Sam is an excellent conversationalist, and he asks and answers questions with ease.

"So Rose tells me you're a mom," he comments after our drinks arrive. His expression remains carefully neutral, and I'm pleased to note the lack of awkwardness or worry in his words.

Nodding, I take a sip of my water. "I am," I confirm. "I have a little girl. She's six."

His eyebrows slide upward. "You don't look old enough to have a six-year-old."

"I was very young," I reply, not quite sure how much Rose has already told him. "Only sixteen."

"Sixteen," he breathes, leaning back in his chair, one long leg crossed over the other. "That must have been really tough."

Tracing a ring of condensation with my finger, I hum in agreement. "It's the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's also been extremely rewarding." I smile at him from across the table. "What about you? Any kids?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, no kids. Sometimes I think I'm still a kid myself."

"My brother," I reply instantly, nodding my head as though I can relate. "He'll be a kid forever, I think."

He laughs outright. "I know Emmett, and I think you're probably right."

My cellphone chirps from within my bag. "Excuse me," I say, blushing. "I'd better check that. My daughter…"

He waves me on good-naturedly, and I dig through my bag to find the source of the noise. My stomach drops like a lead balloon when I see the numbers **9-1-1 **next to Edward's name on my text screen.

"It's Ava," I say, already rising from the table. "I'm so sorry…I have to call. I'll be right back." I rush towards the back of the restaurant where I assume the bathrooms are, already dialing Edward as I go.

He answers on the first ring. "Hey," he breathes, sounding relieved. It's quiet in the background, which is a good sign. No crying, no screaming…

"What's wrong?" I ask, rushing my words. "What happened?"

"No, no, everything's fine. Ava's fine. It's just…I can't convince her to sleep in her bed. She wants to sleep in your room." He sounds flustered, and although I can't see him, I'm certain he's scrubbing his fingers through his hair in desperation.

"That's it?" I ask flatly. "You sent me an emergency message because she doesn't want to sleep in her bed?"

"Well I didn't know what to do!" He defends. "I didn't want to mess up."

His eagerness to get the evening right does crazy things to me. It's not the first time I've found the vulnerabilities in this formerly cocky boy frustratingly attractive.

"Just put her in my bed, Edward," I reassure him. "It's fine. She'll probably fall asleep right away."

He's silent on the other end of the line, leading me to wonder if he's upset that I didn't offer more help. "Are you okay?" I ask him quietly. "Do you need me to come home?"

He clears his throat softly. "Oh. Um…no. That's okay. Finish your…date."

I hang up with Edward after making him promise to call me if he's still having trouble getting Ava to sleep. Sam smiles when he sees me approaching the table, standing politely to pull out my chair. Attractive _and_ well-mannered, I observe, somewhat surprised to find that I'm actually looking forward to finishing our evening. "I'm so sorry about that," I tell him, dropping my phone back in my bag. "Bedtime issues."

His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, which is often. "No worries," he says, chuckling. "Did you get everything taken care of?" He leans forward slightly and reaches his arm across the table, finding my hand and covering it with his larger, warmer one.

My stomach flutters at his touch. "Yeah," I reply, matching his smile with one of my own. "I think everything's good."

-0-0-0-

It's still relatively early by the time I get home, but if everything went smoothly Ava's probably been asleep for a few hours already. I pull my car into the garage and creep quietly through the kitchen, dropping my purse in a chair and stepping out of my heels. Barefoot, I pad through the house, slowly making my way towards the soft yellow light that spills from my bedroom.

Creeping quietly around the corner, I stop short at the sight before me. Ava's sprawled out like a starfish, an arm or leg pointing to each corner of my bed. The covers are a tangled ball at her feet, and her pajamas are mismatched and twisted. Next to her, Edward sleeps peacefully on his back, fully dressed in jeans and socked feet. One large hand rests on the thin shirt covering his flat stomach while the other stretches across the bed, tightly grasping the hand of his lookalike girl.

Despite everything we've been through, it's the first time he's ever slept in my bed, and it's a sight so sweet in its completeness that it makes my throat burn with the threat of tears. My very favorite person in the world and the one who made her, holding on to each other even in sleep…it's more than this fragile heart can take.

With his book on my nightstand and his head on my pillow, it's impossible to deny the rightness I feel at having Edward here, so completely submerged in our lives. Closing my eyes, I imagine a different journey...a journey that began correctly, with a mom and a dad and a baby created from love.

No matter how hard I try, the end result is always the same: a little green-eyed girl, bonding broken families and healing cracked hearts. Even in her sleep.

.

.

.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading and for your support and encouragement. <strong>


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

><p>I'm tangled up in sheets and limbs when I wake up the next morning. Ava's tucked against my side, one hand clutching the strap of my tank top, the other stretched out and holding on to…Edward.<p>

Disoriented as I am, it takes a moment for my early-morning brain to catch up with my eyes, and when it does, last night's events begin splashing through my mind with vivid intensity. My date with Sam; Edward's phone call; returning home, post-date happy, to find him asleep in my bed with Ava.

Asleep.

In my bed.

I untangle from Ava's clutch and turn over gently, my experienced movements allowing me to clamber and climb without shifting the mattress and waking my girl. My bed feels different this morning, and my body can sense his warmth, but Edward's sleepy green eyes are a shock nonetheless. Sleep-tousled and soft, he's lying on his stomach, arms extended beneath his pillow—_my _pillow—still clutching the hand of his daughter. His smile for me is soft, but coupled with the way his long, lean body eats up all the empty space in my normally extra-roomy bed, my cheeks flush with heat, and I have to look away.

I've never woken up next to him before, and I don't know what comes next. Does he want to slip out quietly? Does he…shower in the mornings? Does he eat breakfast early or wait until later?

"Coffee?" I mouth, nodding my head in the direction of the kitchen. Edward's eyebrows slide upward in agreement, and he drops Ava's hand to lift his arms above his head in a pre-dawn stretch. His shirt climbs, his stomach shows…and I hurry forward with the delicate task of dismounting the bed without disturbing our daughter, keeping my back turned to give him privacy.

After making sure Ava's tucked and covered, I tiptoe to the kitchen and ready the pot for coffee, smoothing down my bedhead and righting my sleep-rumpled pajamas while I scoop and fill.

"Smells good," Edward comments a few moments later, sidling up beside me at the counter. "What can I do?"

His jaw is covered in day-old scruff and no two hairs on his head are pointing in the same direction. I'm sure my hair's doing a similar thing, but something tells me it probably doesn't look nearly as good on me as it does on him.

"What?" he asks, running his hands over his head bashfully. "That bad, huh?"

Laughing, I grab a cup of freshly brewed coffee and pass it to him. "It's…cute," I reply, shrugging.

"Cute," he grumbles, sipping from his mug. Wincing, he wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Creamer?"

"Coconut milk," I say, turning back to prepare my own cup. "It's in the fridge."

After rifling through the refrigerator, Edward finally finds the carton and squints at it curiously. "What…is this?"

"Exactly what it says." I laugh, pointing out the bold letters printed on the cardboard, "C-O-C-O-N-U—"

"No, yeah, I can _read_ it, but…is this what you use in your coffee? No normal creamer? No sugar?" Carton in one hand, coffee mug in the other, he looks between them and me with distaste.

"It's less expensive," I point out. "A_nd _it's good for you." I move to pinch his waist, but there's absolutely no fat to be found.

"Less expen—Bella, this is exactly what I'm talking about." Our previously playful morning turns serious as he places his mug on the counter and closes the refrigerator door softly. He rounds on me, his heavy eyebrows wrinkled in concern. "Let me help you," he pleads quietly. "I hate the thought of you nickel-and-diming everything."

I reach past him and reopen the door, grabbing the carton of milk and twisting its lid. "I'm not nickel-and-diming everything," I state firmly. "It's healthier. And there's nothing wrong with me trying to cut costs where I can."

"I know. And I respect that…probably more than you'll ever know, but there're two of you and only one of me…I can help if you'll let me. Bella." He waits until I meet his eyes. "I _want _to provide for my daughter. Please."

Much more than money, this is about pride and control for me. Aside from my brother, I've needed very little help from anyone since I chose this path years ago. I wanted to prove that I'm capable and competent and _willing _to provide for my daughter…and I have. Maybe Edward just wants the same chance.

"Okay," I agree softly. "If stuff comes up for Ava, I'll let you know and we can talk about it together."

His shoulders relax, and he nods his head in agreement. "I'd like that," he says, smiling warmly. "This, though—" He points to the coconut milk. "I have to draw the line with this."

Happy at the change of topic, I laugh and swat his shoulder with my free hand. "Just try it!" I prod. "It's not that bad."

He grimaces exaggeratedly as he pours a tiny drop of milk into his coffee. "Does _Sam _drink coconut milk?" he asks playfully.

It's strange thinking of Sam while I'm sharing space with Edward. My daughter's father consumes me—he's a part of my memories and a part of my future, and there's a little piece of him sleeping in the next room. I don't have any of those connections with Sam, but that's appealing, too. A blank slate is refreshing. Sam doesn't remember me, young and dumb at fifteen—he doesn't know what I look like when my heart is breaking.

"We haven't gotten as far as comparing dairy-free milks yet, Edward,'' I say dryly. Chuckling, he follows me as I move to the breakfast room. The morning sun warms the table and chairs there, and I fold myself into one, tucking my bare feet beneath me.

Across from me, Edward sits and stretches his long legs, balancing his coffee cup on one thigh. "How'd it go last night?"

Not entirely comfortable discussing my date with him, I shrug casually. "Good," I say finally, blowing the steam from my mug. "He was very nice. A perfect gentleman."

He snorts quietly, which I meet with narrowed eyes and a raised eyebrow. Taking a huge gulp of coffee, he hides his smile behind his cup. "How do you know him, anyway?"

"Rosalie," I reply, tracing the sun's patterns on my bare legs. "They work together."

"Ah," Edward nods. "Rosalie. I should have known."

"Known what?"

"That Rosalie was behind all this," he replies, waving his hand up and down in my general direction.

"Behind all _what_?"

He sips his coffee calmly, then shrugs as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She hates me," he states simply. "So it makes perfect sense that she would want to set you up with him. The _perfect gentleman_."

I laugh, even though he's mocking me, and shake my head. "She does not _hate_ you," I correct. "She's just protective of me, and you—" I narrow my eyes at him "—have a track record of being decidedly _un_-gentlemanly."

His cheeks turn pink, but he chuckles good-naturedly. It feels nice…freeing, even, to make light of the issues that have weighed us down for years. I'm _tired _of being serious, and there's something comforting about being this open with Edward. Likewise, he seems happy to have moved beyond the guilt and remorse phase of our…relationship. Dysfunctional as it may be.

"So he has Rose's approval." He holds a finger up as if he's counting. "What about Emmett? Your parents? What do they think of him?"

Though it's obvious he's digging for facts, insecurity suits him. It's rare and new and decidedly…charming. "Emmett's fine, I guess," I say, shrugging. "And my parents don't know him."

Setting his coffee cup down gently, he rubs his hands on his thighs. My eyes follow the path they make, watching his muscles flex under denim. His leg begins to bounce quickly—his nervous tell. "Do they…uh, know about…" He trails off, waving a hand back and forth between us.

"They do, yes," I answer, watching his reaction closely. Not surprisingly, his eyes widen slightly and he swallows thickly. "No details," I point out quickly. "Just that you're Ava's dad. I mean…that part's pretty obvious."

"Christ," he whispers, blowing out a breath. "So they obviously hate me then."

There's no use lying to him or making light of a formerly dark situation, but as much as my parents hated what happened seven years ago, it's hard to imagine a world without Ava in it. They love her, and they've moved on. We all have. "You'll probably have a fair amount of proving yourself to do," I say honestly. "But they kind of failed at the whole responsible parent thing…They don't throw many stones."

"I think about that sometimes," Edward says softly. "About how easy it was for us to…to—"

"Yeah," I agree. "I can't imagine letting Ava raise herself at sixteen."

"Man." Edward blows out a breath. "No kidding." My heart swells at his natural ability to think like a father, to picture what sixteen-year-old Ava will be like and consider the steps we should take in parenting her. Despite his journey and the lapses along the way, being a good dad seems effortless to Edward, and I wonder if it's because Ava's so easy to love, or if he had a better example growing up than he likes to admit.

"What about you?" I ask unceremoniously. "Do your parents know?"

He eyes me warily, chewing on the inside of his lip. "They don't," he answers finally. "Not yet."

My protectiveness over Ava lights up like a flame, and I'm suddenly repulsed at the thought of her being anyone's dirty little secret. I didn't expect a different answer from him, but it stings a little regardless. "Do you plan to tell them…or—"

"Of course," he blurts, sitting up straight and bracing his hands on his knees. "It's not what you think. I'm not hiding her…or you. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed…It's just," he sighs in aggravation, tugging harshly at his messy hair, "I've kept it hidden for so long, and that was easy, you know? Just another secret. But now that I've met her…now that I _know _her, I—They don't deserve her. I'm scared they'll blame her for the mistakes _I _made, and I won't be able to handle that."

I want to tell him that I _do _understand, because I worry about the same things—that I know exactly how it feels to want to protect her and keep her safe. But after six years, Edward's parents deserve to know about their son's daughter. It's unfair to purposely withhold her existence from them. "You never know," I urge him gently. "She's pretty special. It's hard _not _ to fall in love with her. They might be angry with _you_, but I think it would be hard for anyone to blame Ava."

"You haven't met my father," he scoffs. "He's a total ass."

"You have your own family now, Edward," I point out, then quickly realize what I've implied. "Well…your _daughter_. _She's_ your family. I just meant _Ava_ is your family, not—"

"Bella," he interrupts, snickering. "Breathe."

"Right," I agree, chuckling nervously. "Let me start that over." I take a deep breath and begin again. "_Ava _is your family now. Even if it goes terribly and they decide they don't want to be a part of her life, does it really matter? She adores you, Edward. She's doesn't care whether or not your dad's mad about a dumb, immature decision you made. It doesn't matter to her that you were stupid and selfish and scared and—"

"Okay, okay." He laughs. "I get it."

* * *

><p>Time flies when you're counting your life in weeks. I'm twenty weeks pregnant when I apply to finish high school online and twenty-four weeks when the first letter from Edward arrives. Addressed to <em>Bella Swan<em>, there are six neatly folded twenty dollar bills inside and a handwritten note scribbled on a rumpled sheet of paper torn from a spiral notebook. He didn't even remove the flyaway scraps of paper from its edges.

_**Hope you're doing well.**_

My brother stands above me while I scan the paper once, and then again once more. He watches sadly as I fold it tightly into a tiny square and drop it neatly in the trashcan beside my bed. I place the wad of cash in his hands, then beg him with my eyes when he shakes his head in refusal. Our parents don't speak to me, but they still support me financially. My brother, on the other hand, works a part-time job to put himself through a local community college because I ruined his plans for a university education; no one is more deserving of his former best friend's money than him.

That night, after each member of my family has retreated to their own corner of hell, I sit alone in the dark at my desk, scrawling manically on yellow legal pad. The house is still and quiet. The only sounds come from the rapid scratch of my pen as I work it across each pale, blue line.

While my baby rolls gently in my belly, I write to Edward. I tell him about my GED program and how I never leave the house. About my parents' silence and the guilt I feel for what I've done to my brother. I ask if he's enjoying college. If he misses his best friend. I tell him I'm sorry I told him to go; I didn't mean it, and I'd do anything if he'd just come back.

I write that our baby is a girl, that her heart is strong and steady. She's due in April, I tell him, and her name will be Ava.

My pen runs out of ink long before I'm done sharing, but it doesn't matter. I'll never send it anyway.

* * *

><p>I'm the happiest I've been in a long time in the weeks that follow my date with Sam. He's kind and smart and just so…<em>easy<em>. We've managed to snag another two dates, but with my quirky schedule and his long days at work, time alone is hard to come by. He's been amazingly understanding of my need to put my family first and of my less-than-conventional relationship with Ava's daddy. We've yet to have a date that doesn't involve a phone call or text from Edward, though—an issue I can thank my big brother for, I'm sure. He and Edward are as bad as a couple of old ladies, the way they spread gossip about me.

Rose is taking Ava to a movie tonight while I'm with Sam, then bringing her home and sitting with her while she sleeps. My brother and Edward have plans to grab a beer at the little pub down the street from our house. Like Ava and I, Emmett has slowly rebuilt his relationship with Edward. The days of bloodied knuckles and torn shirts seem like a lifetime ago, and despite their sketchy history, there's still the foundation of a strong friendship between them.

"What's Ava up to tonight?" Sam asks, slipping one arm around my waist and moving me to the inside of the sidewalk. _See, Edward? Gentleman._

"She's with Rose," I say, smiling up at him. "Although, admittedly, she'd be so disappointed if she knew where I was."

Sam's an avid baseball fan, and it was his idea to bring me to my first ballgame. The local minor league team isn't known for their impressive wins, but none of that matters when there's a stadium nearby buzzing with excited fans. The evening air pulses with energy as we near the entrance gates, and the smell of cooked hotdogs and popcorn makes my mouth water. "Maybe we can bring her along sometime," Sam says, squeezing my hip gently.

It's not the first time he's mentioned including Ava on our dates, and it makes my stomach hurt each time. I can't envision anyone but Edward and Emmett playing with her or knowing her or loving her. "Oh, look," I say, shifting the subject to something more comfortable. "Foam fingers! It's actually a real thing."

Sam laughs and slides his hand from my hip to grab my fingers in his. "It's a very real thing," he agrees, tugging me along. "They're a rite of passage. Come on, let's get you one."

Thirty minutes and twenty dollars later, I'm holding my foam finger in the air to get Sam's attention. With two beers in each hand, he expertly navigates the stairs in search of our seats. Finally, he spots me and grins, nodding his head to let me know he's seen my signal. I watch him pass through the line of people at the end of our row, admiring the way he looks in his baseball cap and how his t-shirt falls just above the band of his jeans, showing a hint of his boxers each time he lifts his arms to balance our drinks.

"Just in time," I say when he reaches our seats, leaning out to relieve him of the beers. Smiling, I thank him and settle back in my plastic chair to admire our seats.

Sam returns my smile, extending one hand over the armrest to squeeze my bare thigh, leaving it there while he takes a swig of his beer. "These seats are prime because we'll be out of the sun until it sets," he explains, pointing to the section across the stadium where people shield their eyes with hats and raised hands.

"I'm thankful for that," I say, pointing to my bare shoulders and legs. "I'd burn for sure."

He scans me from head to toe, his scrutiny making my skin flush. "I think you chose well," he says finally, eyeing my jean shorts and grinning widely.

We stand through the National Anthem and sip our beers while we watch the first few innings. The sun begins to fall behind the stadium's walls, the field's bright lights throwing bold shadows over Sam's hat and across his face. "I can't see you," I tease him, touching the bill.

He plucks the hat from his head and sets it on his knee, running his fingers through his short, neatly trimmed hair. _The opposite of Edward's. _"Better?" he asks, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me against his side. He's warm and hard and just so…nice.

My cellphone lights up from its place on the chair beside me just as I'm making myself comfortable at Sam's side. "I'm sorry," I say, reaching for my bag. I know _he _knows that I can't ignore calls from my family when Ava's with them, but I feel badly that I've been distracted by a phone call on each of our dates. He smiles at me kindly while I fumble for my phone, then politely feigns interest in the game when he notices Edward's name on the screen. Rosalie, Emmett, _and_ Edward are all involved in Ava's care tonight, so I can't _not _answer it.

"Hello?" I say quietly, bending down in my seat to block out some of the noise from the game.

"Birdie!" Edward shouts, and in the background, my brother parrots, "Birdie!"

Wherever they're at, it's loud; they're obviously not at my house, and this is obviously _not _an emergency.

"Yes?" I say impatiently. The crowd roars in response to some action on the field, and I wait for the noise to settle before speaking again. "Edward? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he semi-slurs. "Always with the worrying, Birdie. Chin up!"

"Are you…" I look over my shoulder and see Sam watching me curiously. "Are you drunk dialing me?" I hiss, leaning farther away in search of privacy.

"What?" he giggles. "No! Never. I could not, _would_ not ever."

Silly, playful, _and _chatty. He's drunk. "What is it, then?" I ask dryly. "I'm busy."

He hums agreeably, like we're two girlfriends sharing stories. "How _is _Sam, anyway?" he asks. I hear my brother in the background hooting loudly. "Still a perfect gentleman?"

"I really wish I'd never told you that," I mutter. "Did you need something?"

"Yes. I was calling because I forgot to tell you that I saw a Groupon for horseback riding lessons the other day. Ava's been wanting to ride…"

The noise level of the game rises, and so does my voice. "Edward!" I shriek. "Stop interrupting my dates. If it's not an emergency—a _real_ emergency—just wait and ask me when I get home!"

"Geez," he teases, his voice playfully lilting. "So sorry to interrupt your _dates_."

"It's fine" I sigh. "Have you checked on Ava?"

"Yeah, Emmett just called Rose; she's already asleep." He hesitates for a moment. "Em said I could crash at your place, if that's okay? So I don't have to drive?"

I shoot Sam an apologetic look, then duck my head again. "Sure, whatever. Listen, I've got to go," I whisper, hurrying him along.

"Tell Perfect Gentleman to be a perfect gentleman."

"I'm hanging up now, Edward."

Dropping my phone back inside my bag, I offer Sam a smile. "I'm so sorry," I repeat. "I had to make sure everything's fine with Ava."

He gives me a small smile of his own. "And was it? Fine with Ava?"

"Oh. Um…" I lean into the open space under his arm, and he wraps it tightly around my shoulder once more. "Yeah," I reply. "Everything's great."

"Cold?" he asks quietly, rubbing his hand up and down my goosebump-riddled arm.

The temperature dropped significantly when the sun went down and, as usual, I'm not prepared. "A little," I admit.

"You wanna go?" he asks, placing his hat back on his head and peering down at me. "I don't even have a hoodie or anything to offer you…"

I shake my head. "Oh, no. The game's not even over yet. I'll be fine."

"I've got season tickets, so it's not a big deal," he says, squeezing me tighter. "We can come anytime."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Yeah."

We gather our trash and souvenirs and navigate our way back through the stands and stadium and out to the parking lot. "Thanks for bringing me to the game," I tell him, swinging our clasped hands between us.

"I'm glad you had fun," he replies quietly, despite the fact that we're the only people around. We slow to a stop as we near our cars, and he tugs my hand so that we're face to face. "I'm not ready to say goodbye yet. Can you get a drink or something?"

He drops my hands to wrap his arms around my shoulders, pulling me to his chest in a tight embrace. My arms reach around his slim waist, grabbing his t-shirt while I count back tonight's drinks in my head. "I shouldn't," I confirm. "I've already had two beers, and it's a bit of a drive back to my house."

We stay locked together, swaying slightly side-to-side. Sam's chin rests easily on the top of my head, and I lift my face slightly to breathe in the scent of the warm skin under his jaw. I've missed that smell—so overwhelmingly _male_. I've missed soft touches and anxious glances; missed the feel of being wrapped up in someone bigger and more powerful than me. Pulling back, he places a soft kiss to my forehead, then rubs his nose down the side of mine. "We can hang out at my place," he whispers, eyes searching mine. "Watch a movie or something?"

I don't bother to think about the implications of this new change of plans, or fret over the fact that I've never been in a guy's house alone, save for Edward—

"Yeah," I breathe. "Okay."

* * *

><p>It's nearly 2am when I pull into my garage that night, and although someone left a small light on in the kitchen, the rest of the house is completely cloaked in darkness. I tiptoe through the stillness, stopping at the refrigerator to down a glass of water, then pausing to check the timer on the coffee pot.<p>

Anxious for bed, I make a beeline for my room. If I'm lucky, Ava will sleep in and I'll manage to steal at least five or six hours of slumber. "Shit," I hiss, narrowly missing a tiny, plastic brush camouflaged in the living room's carpet. I kick it to the side, making a mental note to have Ava take her toys to her room—

"How was your date?"

Startled, I swallow a shriek and spin around, placing a hand over my mouth in surprise. "Jesus, Edward!" I admonish. "You scared me." Despite passing his car on my way into the house, I forgot that the couch is the only viable option for guests; Ava, Emmett, and I occupy all three of our house's small bedrooms. "Are you waiting up for me?" I ask, gingerly making my way through the darkness to where he sits on the couch, reclined and shrouded in darkness.

His shadowy shoulders shrug. "How was your date?" he repeats.

I drop onto the cushion next to him, suddenly exhausted. "Nice," I reply, hiding a yawn in my hand. "We went to the baseball game."

"Until two in the morning?" he asks, his earlier jovial tone nowhere to be found.

My cheeks burn, and I'm thankful for the darkness that hides their flush. "No," I admit, unwilling to elaborate.

"Are you sleeping with him?" he asks boldly.

Unprepared for his questioning, I can only stare. "I'm sorry?" I stammer, confused.

Unabashed, he meets my eyes brazenly in the darkness. "I said, are you sleeping with him?"

"That's absolutely none of your business, Edward," I scold, appalled at his audacity.

He snorts, a sound almost self-deprecating in its dryness. "It's a little bit my business; you're sleeping with some guy who's going to be around my daughter."

Anger flares inside of me, so strong in its intensity that warm tears instantly flood my eyes. I bite hard on the inside of my cheek to keep them from falling. "Ava doesn't even know he exists, you asshole," I spew, my words dripping with contempt. "And what about the _hundreds _of girls you've fucked? What would Ava think of them?"

He shrugs. "I told you I don't do that anymore."

"Oh, yes," I say sarcastically. "I'd forgotten about your three months of celibacy. How big of you."

Edward leans forward, rubbing his stubbly jaw in frustration. "I don't like him," he says firmly.

"You don't _know _him."

"He's ruining my family!" he whisper-yells, voice thick with desperation.

I'm grateful for the darkness; thankful for the privacy it allows the tears that flow freely down my cheeks. "Edward," I say softly, reaching for his fisted hand. "I can't play house with you." This strikes me as familiar, and I realize I've borrowed his words from that awful day, years ago. "It doesn't work that way."

He shakes his head. "I'm not playing. Ava's my family." He pauses, tightening his grip on my hand. "_You're _my family."

"I'm your daughter's mother, and—"

"You're so much more than that," he interrupts. "To me."

We're nearly face-to-face now, and my head is spinning at his closeness and his words. My evening with Sam feels like a million years ago. "Edward…"

"I'm serious, Bella," he interjects, dropping his voice to an intense whisper. "I fucked up. I get it. But I won't lose either of you again. Not to him. Not to anybody. I'm not going anywhere." He tugs my hand so I'll look at him. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

"Edward, please," I say on a sigh. "I'm so tired. I…I can't do this right now."

He shrugs his shoulders sadly. "I had to tell you. When you're with him, you have to know."

I grab him in a tight hug, unsure of any other way to show him that I know how he feels; that I know what it's like for a heart to hurt so badly you feel it in your bones. I can't offer him much right now—new as we are to this co-parenting life—but I _can_ give him friendship and understanding. "Goodnight, Edward," I say softly.

His arms are banded tightly around my body, his face buried in my hair. "Night, Bella," he whispers.

I detangle myself from his arms and stand, avoiding his eyes while I gather his blankets and lay them softly in his lap. At the door, I turn back once more to find him staring out the window into the darkness.

I wash my face and change into my pajamas, bone weary and exhausted by the time I slide between my sheets, though tired as I am, I can't sleep. Edward's presence in the next room dominates my thoughts, and his words weigh heavy on my heart.

* * *

><p><strong>Acknowledgements:<strong> **Tiffanyanne3**, for being a wonderful friend and the ultimate teacher, and **Rochelle Allison**, for recommending my little story to The Lemonade Stand. I'm still in shock!

Thanks for reading. xo


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**-0-0-0-**

The best day of my life dawns sunny and bright. Fitting, since the tiny bundle against my chest—delicate hand fisted tightly against pink, bowed lips—brought the light in with her when she entered my world.

She's only one day old, my Ava Mae, and already I've memorized every perfect piece of her. From the top of her head—covered in a layer of thick brown hair—to the bottom of her tiny, wrinkled feet; she's the smallest, warmest, sweetest thing I've ever seen. She's a quiet baby, communicating only in squeaks and delicate hums, and she's happiest when she's bare chested and cuddled skin-to-skin against me. I think she already knows that she's mine and I'm hers and together, we're a team.

"Ava Mae," I whisper, rubbing the top of her downy head with the tips of my fingers. She roots around at the sound of my voice, a foreign feeling fluttering inside my breasts. I hadn't given much thought to nursing her when I was pregnant, but now that I've fed her from my own body—the same body that patiently grew each, special inch of her—I can't imagine it any other way.

Adjusting her weight, I place her against my breast and watch as she moves frantically, latching on with far more vigor than her fragile frame seems capable of. Her mouth moves quickly, pink lips pulling in and out in an organic rhythm all her own. Her features are soft and upturned, like mine, but her eyelashes and eyebrows…they're his.

My brother interrupts our bonding, his shoes squeaking loudly against the hospital's shiny linoleum floor as he rounds the corner into my room. Ava's new carseat in one hand, an empty black duffel in the other, he skids to an abrupt halt, dropping the bag on the floor in his haste.

"Okayyy…" he stutters, turning on his heel and walking back out. "I'll just wait out here," he yells from the hallway. "Until you've, uh... Until you've put it away."

Sighing heavily, I place a receiving blanket over my exposed chest, smoothing it back from Ava's face. "You're an idiot," I call back, dryly.

Emmett inches back inside the room a few moments later, his hand clamped firmly over his eyes to shield me from his view. "It's not right," he mutters, settling into the chair near my bed. "No guy should have to see his sister's ti—"

"Oh get over it," I admonish, laughing. "It's how she eats. Stop making it a big deal."

He looks everywhere but at me. "Mom and Dad are on their way up. You gonna do that in front of them?"

"She has to eat, Emmett." I roll my eyes in exasperation. "Am I supposed to withhold food from her because Dad's an uptight ass?"

My brother raises his hands in defense. "I'm just warning you."

Things have been tense in our family since I broke the news of my pregnancy months ago. Despite their previous lack of involvement in our lives, my parents' abrupt and intentional silence bothers me more than I thought it would—more than it probably should. I ran through my family and friends quickly when I chose to let this baby girl grow, and I've had several long, lonely months because of it. My brother's been my saving grace. Steadfastly loyal, he's been much more than just a brother to me. He's my best friend and my protector. He's kept me healthy and happy, allowing me to mourn my decisions, yet celebrate their outcomes. The best outcome of all, of course, being the tiny bundle in my arms.

"Hey, pretty girl," Emmett coos, leaning in to let his niece's small fist wrap around his much larger finger. I busy myself rewrapping her blankets. When she grunts and whimpers her protest, I bring her to my shoulder and pat her back lightly. "The nurse said you should rub circles, remember?" my brother reminds me, his voice filled with new-uncle worry.

Smiling softly at his concern, I switch my taps for gentle rotations. "I remember," I murmur.

He clears his throat quietly, and I brace myself for what's to come. There's one obvious person missing from this equation, and—despite my best efforts—I'm painfully aware of his absence.

"Do you want me to…uh…call him?" Emmett's hesitation and wariness makes my sensitive heart hurt. Only hours old, the mention of Ava's missing father is a dark cloud over an otherwise sunny day.

We haven't heard from Edward at all, save for a smattering of checks sent over the past few months. Short notes of well wishes soon fizzled to simple names: To Bella; From Edward. Eventually his correspondence became nothing more the occasional check in an otherwise empty envelope. I never wrote back, and the insecure girl who longs for the heavy weight of his body and the warmth of his hands, regrets the decision to freeze him out. This Bella, though— the one cradling her newborn daughter—realizes that if he'd wanted this, he could have had it. I've hardly left my bedroom in months. I've literally been waiting in the same place he left me.

"I don't think so," I answer quietly. "I don't want anything to ruin this day."

Emmett's dark eyebrows furrow in concern. "Don't you think he should know?"

"He's done the math, I'm sure."

I can tell my brother wants to push the issue, but our parents' arrival interrupts our quiet debate.

My mom makes a beeline for the bed and takes over rubbing Ava's back. "How's my Ava girl?"

She's shown little concern for me throughout the process of Ava's birth, but the shame and disappointment she clearly harbors haven't diminished the joy she feels at being a new grandmother.

I ignore the fact that she hasn't asked me anything directly. "The pediatrician came by and said she's perfect. They're letting us go home this afternoon."

She hums in acknowledgment, still ignoring me in favor of baby-talking Ava. "Are you going for a ride, Ava girl? Are you going for a ri—"

"Ridiculous contraption," my dad interrupts gruffly, nudging the carrier with his toe. "I got the other piece all buckled in; damn thing takes up half the backseat."

He's not one to rub backs or nuzzle downy heads, but he shows his love in other ways. Like spending the morning outside with a hospital staff member, receiving a lesson in the proper way to install Ava's carseat base. Uptight ass or not, I'm thankful for his help.

"Alright, old man," my brother says, slapping my dad's back. "Let's get everything loaded up."

They work to gather up the few items I brought from home while my mom holds Ava and continues her cooing. My nurse Fiona, a large Irish woman, saunters in just as I'm preparing to change Ava's clothes and diaper for the ride home. Her voice is loud and clear, but given the silence of the past few months, I welcome her company. "How're you feeling, dear?" she asks.

"Okay," I say, smiling kindly. "A little sore, but pretty good overall."

She clacks her tongue. "You young ones…always bounce back so quickly."

Fiona busies herself checking my chart and vitals, unaware that her words have caused an awkward silence to settle over the room like a thick blanket. My parents look away, the humiliation on their faces so standard these days that I struggle to remember a time when I still made them proud. My brother meets my eye and winks, the simple action filled with encouragement and understanding. I shake my head, letting him know I'm okay; I'm strong, and I've got this.

I might be broken, but there's a newborn girl who's looking to me for love and happiness, and that's the most powerful healing balm of all. It's not how I would have written our story, but maybe the lesson is in how I live the tale.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

"So, how'd it go?" I mouth, nodding in Ava's direction. "Any problems?"

Edward shakes his head, a smug grin pulling at the corners of his lips. "Nope. She was perfect."

We both lower our heads to spy on our daughter through the pass-through window in Edward's kitchen. Ava's perched on her knees at his dining room table, looking both tiny and grown surrounded by stacks of computer paper and uncapped pens.

"Did she eat?" I ask, taking in the status of his tidy kitchen. There are a few pans in the sink, but it looks otherwise unused.

"She did. She wanted ice cream; we agreed on mac and cheese and fruit."

My eyebrows slide upward. "I'm impressed."

"It was from a box."

"Still better than ice cream," I point out, smiling.

I don't know that I'll ever stop feeling surprised by the easy way Ava and Edward have adapted to one another. It frightens me a little, how quickly she loved him. I continue to hope he's worthy.

Edward's arms fold across his chest and he leans his hip against the counter, staring at me.

"What?" I smooth my sundress self-consciously. My shoulders are bare and sun-kissed pink from my afternoon at the farmers' market with Sam. My bare feet show the early signs of a strappy sandal tan.

He shrugs casually. "You look nice."

Things are still slightly awkward from the last time our conversation went down this path, several weeks ago. I hate the tension surrounding these types of talks. I miss the glimpses of the fun, lighthearted Edward I'd only just gotten to know.

I thank him, touching the tops of my shoulders tenderly. "I'm wishing I'd worn something with sleeves."

"Where'd you get so much sun?" He turns his focus to a nearby set of napkins, straightening them with false concentration.

"Famers' market."

"With _Sam_?" He mimics his name.

"What're you, twelve?" I laugh.

"The farmers' market." His forehead creases in distaste. "It's just so…_cheesy_."

"Hey!" I move to smack his chest with my hand, but he curls around himself protectively and darts away from me, chuckling. "I like the farmers' market!"

"I like it too, but…come on. For a date? It's cheesy," he repeats, looking down at me.

"It wasn't a date." My cheeks flare hot beneath my sunburn. I'm embarrassed for Sam in this moment and annoyed with Edward for playing on my insecurities.

"So you're not dating him?"

"Well, no. I mean…I am. I guess. I just…" I scowl in frustration. "Your lawyer tricks won't work on me, Cullen."

He laughs. "No tricks here, Swan. Just stating the obvious."

I ignore him and lean forward to check on Ava again, smiling at the way her pink tongue peeks from the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on her drawing.

"So listen," I say, butterflies tickling my stomach. "My parents are having us over for dinner tomorrow evening…kind of a family barbecue type of thing. I wondered if you'd want to come?"

His eyes widen slightly, and he swallows thickly. "Do they still hate me?"

"Maybe. But Ava loves you, and she'd probably be proud to have you there."

I don't mean to guilt him, but it's the truth. He's all Ava can talk about. She's proud to have a dad, and she's proud her dad is Edward. I'm ready to move beyond all the drama surrounding our past, and the first step in doing that is shelving the awkwardness with my parents. I don't blame him for feeling nervous, but he's got to face the results of his past actions at some point. I certainly did.

Edward seems lost in his own head for a moment, but he agrees, nodding resolutely. "Count me in. Can I bring anything?"

"Boxed pasta?"

He laughs. "That's sure to impress them."

-0-0-0-

"I just don't understand why I had to hear it from your brother." My mom's voice is nearly a whine. It wouldn't surprise me for her to stomp a perfectly manicured foot.

"It's really not that big of a deal, Mom," I say, eliciting a glare from her. I retreat. "Okay. Fine. It _is_ a big deal, but not in a bad way. It's actually been a really great thing for Ava…and I don't want to do anything to ruin it for her."

She rolls her eyes, dropping ice in glasses with unnecessary force. "As if I would do anything to upset Ava."

_Maybe not intentionally__…_

I take the tray of drinks, following her through the dining room and out to the deck. This is the same spiel I've been reciting to my parents for weeks now, but there's only so much I can do. The rest is up to Edward. He'll have to prove himself to them. "He's really changed, Mom," I say, a final attempt at opening her mind to him.

"Mm-hmm…"

I set the drinks down on the patio table, moving them into the shade so the ice won't melt. "Should I be worried about Dad?" I ask hesitantly.

"I don't know, Bella. I mean, you're bringing home the boy who—" she drops her voice to a hiss, "_knocked-up_ his sixteen-year-old daughter, under his roof, and then left her high and dry to raise a baby alone."

I shush her quietly, looking over my shoulder to make sure Ava's not nearby. "That's not _exactly_ how it happened…"

She glares at me. "Well, you never bothered to elaborate. What were we supposed to assume?"

I chew my lip, taking some time to digest the truth in her words. Crossing the deck, I hug her tightly. "You're right, Mom; I'm sorry."

It's the first time I've ever really said it, and I hope she realizes how much it covers. It's for more than just the stress of today. It's an apology for being deceitful and for keeping things a secret much longer than I had to; for being stubborn and hardheaded and unable to accept help.

"Momma?" Ava interrupts our moment, her bare feet slapping against the deck as she climbs the stairs. "I'm ready to swim now."

My mom smiles tightly when I step out of her embrace. We've only just skimmed the surface. This painful topic runs several layers deep. It's nowhere near resolved.

I spend a few moments reapplying Ava's sunscreen and talking with her about the importance of taking occasional breaks for shade. "Is Uncle Em in the pool?" I ask, rubbing in the last streaks of lotion on her nose.

"Yes, and Auntie Rose, too."

"Stay in the shallow end, and I'll be right down. Okay?"

Watching her navigate the deck stairs, I peel off the thin tank covering my halter two-piece and pull my hair into a loose knot on the top of my head. I pull my cellphone from the pocket of my cutoffs, remembering to put it away before I go near the water. There's a text from Sam, wishing me luck today and telling me he hopes things go smoothly. I feel a twinge of guilt that I haven't introduced him to Ava or my parents, and that Edward's sharing this day with us instead. Sam's been so patient, so unwaveringly supportive and kind…maybe it's time I stepped up and _really _let him in.

I tuck my phone inside a towel and shove it under a deck chair.

-0-0-0-

Rose rubs sunscreen on my back while I sit between her legs, playing judge for Emmett and Ava's splash contest. My brother can clear the pool with one jump, but he pretends to fall a lot and lets Ava win some, too.

"It's open!" Emmett calls, when there's a knock on the gate near the side of the house.

I rush to greet Edward at the fence, hoping to intercept him before my parents have the chance.

He's in a white t-shirt and board shorts, squinting against the sunlight and looking every bit as good as he did in this exact spot several years ago. A grocery bag bulges with multiple cartons of ice cream under one arm, a six-pack of my brother's favorite beer balances under the other.

"Hi," he grins widely, nudging his hat off his forehead with the back of his too-full hand. His eyes dart nervously over my shoulder, assessing the situation behind me.

"Hi yourself," I reply, matching his grin. I'd like to ease his worries, but truth be told, I have no idea what he's about to walk into. "No Kraft mac and cheese?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Brought my girl some ice cream, instead." He gestures to the six-pack. "And food for Emmett."

After latching the gate behind him, I reach out to grab a bag. His eyes follow the path of my outstretched arm, over my chest, and down to my bare stomach. "Watch it," I warn, narrowing my eyes at him playfully.

He laughs, wiggling his eyebrows good-naturedly. I lead him across the paver stones lining the side of the house and out into the bright backyard. Ava spots him immediately. "Daddy!" she squeals, her tiny legs kicking furiously as she pushes herself to the ladder. "Daddy, watch me!" She rushes out of the pool, fast-walking to the edge and cannonballing back in.

"Whoa!" Edward grins, waiting for her to resurface. He gives her a thumbs up with his free hand. "Nice one!"

He waves politely to Rose, and she smiles tightly, returning her attention to the magazine in her hands. Her sunglasses hide her expression, but I'd bet her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

We wait in the soft grass as Emmett and Ava climb out of the water, their dripping bodies leaving sloppy puddles on the stone as they slip-slide our way. Ava wraps herself around Edward's leg, and my brother claps his back with one big, wet hand. Edward pushes him off playfully. "Hey, man," he laughs.

I take the six-pack from Edward, freeing his hands to lift Ava. Her wet swimsuit drenches the few remaining dry spots on his shirt, but he's unfazed. "Come swim with us," Ava begs him, her cheeks pink from sun and excitement.

"I'm going to run these inside," I say, touching Edward's arm lightly. He smiles warmly in acknowledgment. "Be right back."

-0-0-0-

My mom and dad are huddled around the kitchen sink when I walk into the room. "Edward's here," I announce, squinting against the sudden shift to artificial light. Their tense postures prove I'm not telling them anything they don't already know.

"We'll be right out," my mom murmurs. She pulls plastic wrap from various dips and sauces while my dad helps me ice down the beer. They exchange wary glances as they follow me through the open French doors and onto the deck.

My nerves are at an all-time high as I scan the yard for Edward, ready to get this awkward reintroduction out of the way. I spot him in the pool's shallow end, talking with Emmett while he pulls Ava around in lazy circles. Our eyes meet, but before I can wave him over, he blows a raspberry on Ava's neck and hands her over to Emmett, dodging pool toys and floats as he makes his way out of the water. Grabbing a towel from the chair next to Rose, he wraps it around his waist, then slides his t-shirt over his head and crosses the lawn in our direction, his stride equal parts confident and cautious.

I smile to ease his nerves when he reaches the top of the stairs. "Mom and Dad, you remember Edward." I cringe slightly. _Of course they remember him._

"Hello, Edward." My mom is tight-lipped and polite. My dad is silent.

Edward steps forward with his hand extended. "Mr. and Mrs. Swan. It's good to see you again. Thank you for having me."

My dad accepts his handshake, his mustache twitching as he pumps Edward's hand a little too firmly.

To his credit, Edward cuts right to the chase. "I know we have a lot to discuss, and...I realize this isn't the best time or place, but...I want you to know that I'm ready to, uh…face the music, so to speak." He laughs nervously. "I know I have a lot to answer for, but... I'm just really happy to be here."

My dad laughs dryly. "Glad you've finally learned that there's a time and place for certain things."

Edward flinches, but before either of us can respond, my mom places a calming hand on my dad's arm, her touch relaxing his shoulders and breaking him out of the glare he has locked on Edward.

"We have plenty of time to discuss the past. Let's just try to enjoy today, okay? Would you like something to drink, Edward?" She crosses the deck, pointing out each drink as she says its name. "There's tea or beer or soda. You just help yourself. I'm going to get the meat ready for the grill." She scurries toward the house, snagging my dad's sleeve on her way. "Charlie, help me carry these plates out, will you?"

Edward and I stand rooted in place, staring after them in stunned silence. Finally, he clears his throat quietly, "Well, that…uh…that—"

"Went way better than I expected it to."

"Christ," he murmurs, rubbing his hands over his face.

He looks so relieved that I can't help but laugh. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I really thought he was going to kill me."

"Yeah." My laugh turns teasing. "I'm pretty sure he wanted to."

He narrows his eyes at me, a smile playing at his lips. "That's helpful."

I grin. "And just think, you haven't even 'faced the music' yet." I curl my fingers into quotes to mock his words, and he groans.

"God. I'm such an idiot."

Shaking my head, I pull my focus beyond the deck and watch our daughter splashing and playing in the pool below. Ava and Emmett and Rosalie…even my mom and dad, all of my favorite people, together in the same space. It feels so good…so _complete, _to finally add Edward to this list. "You're just making an effort. One day Ava will appreciate how hard you're trying."

Mirroring my stance, he follows the path of my eyes, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face when he spots our girl. "Man, I love her," he whispers, shaking his head slightly as if he can't quite believe it.

Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. I know what it's like to love her so much you wonder if you can stand beneath the weight of it all.

"Hey, Edward?" I ask.

"Yeah?"

"You're doing a great job."

-0-0-0-

"Rough day?" Rose asks, joining me on the porch swing later that night.

"Not at all, actually." I sigh, running my fingernails across Ava's scalp. She purses her lips in her sleep, curling deeper into my arms.

"I hate to admit it, but he's not so bad."

I snort, unsurprised by my best friend's bluntness. "Edward's fun factor has never really been the issue."

"True." She gets the swing moving again with a push of her bare foot, each of us settling back to watch Emmett and Edward shoot hoops in my parent's driveway.

Emmett dribbles slowly, trying to get past Edward, but Edward steals the ball and shoots it. I laugh when my brother falls in a defeated heap on the pavement. "Two!" I whisper-shout, and he shoots me the bird.

"How're things with Sam?" Rose asks quietly.

"Good," I say, guilt gnawing at my belly. I haven't checked my phone since I stowed it away earlier. "You already know how great he is. He's so well-mannered, and he loves baseball…"

She laughs. "Wow. He sounds like a riot."

"You know what I mean," I scoff, twisting strands of Ava's hair together to busy my hands. "He's…gentlemanly. I know that sounds lame—Edward won't shut up about it—but sometimes it's really nice, too."

"You talk to Edward about your relationship with Sam?"

I blush. "Well…no, not really. Only…well, _mostly _only when it involves Ava."

She scrunches her nose. "Mostly only?"

We laugh at my stupidity, causing Ava to stir in her sleep and the guys to stop their dribbling and glance our way.

"Shh," I giggle as we're settling down. "I don't want Ava to wake up or she'll want to sleep here. I've had about all I can take of my parents today."

"Seems like they did pretty well with Edward," she comments, her voice slightly hesitant. My issues with my parents have been a constant topic of conversation for as long as we've been friends.

I shrug. "Well enough. It was a little awkward at first, but then it just seemed like old times."

"Minus the whole blow-jobs-in-the-bathroom thing," she points out.

Mortified, I glance in Emmett and Edward's direction to make sure they haven't heard. "Yeah," I hiss, glaring at her. "Minus that."

"He'd die for a blow job," she mutters, smirking confidently.

"What on e_arth _are you talking about?"

"He wants you." She shrugs. "I can tell."

"Yeah, well, he had me. It didn't work out too well."

"You said he's changed."

I nod, watching him dribble the ball lazily. "He has. He's settled down a lot, and he's a good dad—"

"He really is," she interrupts, her pretty blue eyes suddenly serious.

"I know." I sigh, pushing the hair back from Ava's face. "She's crazy about him."

"And he's crazy about her," she echoes.

We swing in silence for a bit, while I contemplate what she's said. Eventually, when the guys are sweaty and sore, they join us on the porch.

"You ready to head out?" Emmett asks Rose, pushing the swing lightly with his knee.

She nods, letting him pull her up by her hands.

They rarely stay at Emmett's and my house these days, but I ask just to be sure. "Are you going to Rose's?"

There's a long pause while they exchange awkward glances. Finally, my brother nods.

I kiss Rose's cheek before they head inside to gather their things. Emmett tells me they'll lock up on their way out, and I'm grateful for any excuse to avoid another confrontation with my parents. They retreated inside earlier, claiming sun exhaustion, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're waiting and watching us now.

"Want me to carry her to your car?" Edward asks, pocketing his car keys and freeing his hands.

"That'd be great. She's so heavy when she's asleep."

He lifts Ava gently from my lap, placing a hand against the back of her head when it rolls tiredly.

"Daddy?" She blinks her eyes sleepily, wrapping herself around him tightly.

"I've got you," he whispers, rubbing her back softly. He leads us down the driveway to my parked car, waiting while I unlock the doors and clear the books and stuffed animals surrounding Ava's seat.

I watch as he lifts her smoothly inside, the muscles in his arms flexing against the weight of her still-sleeping body. More than ice-cream or raspberries blown on sun-drenched cheeks, this action hits me like a ton of bricks. She has a _dad. _ A dad who can lift her easily when I struggle under the weight of her growing body. It's so common—so _normal_—and yet it's one more reminder that parenting is meant to be a team effort.

After she's buckled in and sleeping soundly, he shuts the car door gently, turning to face me. His nose is slightly pink from the sun. "Thanks for inviting me today." He smiles softly. "I had a great time."

"Me too. I'm so glad you came to face the music."

I bite back a squeal when he grabs me playfully, digging his chin into the ticklish spot between my neck and shoulder.

"No making fun of me," he growls.

I giggle, my attempts to squirm away futile. "Never," I say, feigning innocence.

His playful touch against my neck turns gentle, his nose tracing my jaw softly. I press my hands against his chest; so solid and warm and _present._ "Edward," I breathe.

"Yeah?" His breath against my neck draws goosebumps across my entire body.

"What're you doing?" I whisper. My head spins, our past and present colliding in one overwhelming moment.

"You're so good with her," he whispers against my neck, his lips brushing my skin when he speaks. "So patient and strong. So beautiful."

His tracing turns into kissing, gentle passes across my neck and jaw that eventually lead him to the corner of my mouth. He lifts a hand to hesitantly brush the hair from my face. "Okay?" he asks softly, rubbing his thumb across my lips.

He smells like sunscreen and the summer I was sixteen, and my fragile heart beats hard in my chest. From nerves or want, I can't be sure, but I nod, leaning into his hand.

He bends down as I rise to my toes, our lips pressing softy together. His mouth moves slowly over mine, close-mouthed and sweet. His thumbs make slow passes across my jaw.

When his tongue licks a smooth line across my lower lip I fist his t-shirt, pushing him away. "Sam," I murmur, my chest rising and falling quickly.

"Uh…what?" He looks confused. Maybe even a little annoyed.

I shake my head, pressing my hands against his chest. "I can't do this to Sam." I watch the confusion on his face slowly fade to pain. "I don't want to hurt him, Edward. I owe him a conversation, at the very least."

He nods, dropping his hands from my face, squeezing my hips once. "Right." He smiles tightly. "Of course. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…uh…" He steps back, waving a hand back and forth between us.

"Edward, wait—"

"It's fine, Bella." He hugs me tightly, dropping a friendly kiss to the top of my head. "Drive safely, okay? I'll talk to you soon."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I watch him retreat to his car, my mind grappling with the ups and downs of this emotional day.

More than anything else, one moment stands out above the rest.

I kissed Edward.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading, and thanks for your patience. <strong>

**A/N: **Thanks to **Robzbeanie** and **Tiffanyanne3** for their beta skills, and to **cejsmom** for pre-reading (and for (kindly) lighting a fire under my ass). All mistakes are mine.

**Chapter 23 teaser: **

"Yesterday went so well…with your parents." He's upset; pleading with me to understand. I don't, but I nod my head, encouraging him to continue. "I thought I could do it. I thought I could tell my family about Ava."

My eyes widen. This isn't what I was expecting at all. "What happened?"

Unshed tears make his eyes shine like green glass. "I was horribly wrong."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Ava and I spend the next morning recovering from our time in the sun and pool. We wash the chlorine from our hair and slather our sun-soaked skin with lotion. Sunday mornings are for pancakes around our house, but we missed breakfast in lieu of sleeping in, so we have them for lunch instead.

We're just sitting down to eat when there's a loud knock at the front door.

"Who's that, Mommy?" Ava asks, dragging her fork through a puddle of maple syrup.

"I have no idea." Standing, I place my napkin on the table. "Stay here. I'll be right back, okay?"

She nods her assent, and I make my way to the front of the house, my pace quickening when the knocks become more persistent.

The window beside the door reveals a distraught Edward on our front stoop. He paces, his hands balled tightly into fists, his chest heaving.

"Oh my God, Edward." I hurry him into the house. "What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, starting and stopping several times, trying to find his composure.

I wait patiently, the picture of calm. Inside, though, I'm dying.

"Yesterday went so well…with your parents." He's upset; pleading for me to understand. I don't, but I nod my head, encouraging him to continue. "I thought I could do it. I thought I could tell my family about Ava."

My eyes widen. This isn't what I was expecting at all. "What happened?"

Unshed tears make his eyes shine like green glass. "I was horribly wrong."

My stomach drops, and a bitter taste fills my mouth; my body's physical response to the extreme protectiveness I feel for my child. "What did they say?"

His eyes belie his rigid posture. Broken and desperate, they're filled with worry and with fear. "I can't…" He starts and stops again, grappling for words. "Fuck them. Fuck _him.__" _

I grab his hand, squeezing it once in silent understanding, and lead him to the couch and away from the kitchen. "Ava's eating breakfast," I remind him gently.

The sound of her name must rile up something inside of him once more, because his eyes flash with anger, and he groans as he scrubs his hands over his face.

_Jesus. What did they do to him?_

"I'll be right back," I tell him softly. "You'll be okay for a minute?"

"Yeah." His voice is rough. "I'm sorry. I—I'm fine. Go."

"Hey," I whisper, waiting for his eyes to meet mine. "Whatever this is… You're here now. Everything's okay."

His smile is half-hearted but sincere, and I hope he understands the meaning of my words. His parents' reaction to the news of our daughter doesn't have to penetrate the fort we've painstakingly erected around our dysfunctional little family.

I rejoin Ava in the kitchen, moving my untouched plate to the sink. "Who was it, Momma?" My girl's mouth is full with the last bits of pancake from her plate, and there's syrup on her face and in her hair. I'm so full of love for her in these moments—when I'm reminded of how young and pure she is—and I'm not ready for the drama surrounding Edward's and my past to get its hooks in her.

"It's your Dad." I'm deliberately cautious with my words, but her face breaks into a wide grin despite my hesitation, and she moves to climb down from her chair. "Wait a sec, Bug," I say, joining her at the table. "He had a bad morning, and he's not feeling very happy right now."

"He's not?"

"No," I repeat softly, "he's not. I think he wants to talk to me for a little while before he feels like playing. Does that sound okay?"

"And then he can play?"

I smile at her sticky face. She's the most open-minded person I know, and it's refreshing in a way I can't even comprehend. "Yeah. When he's feeling better." My fingers tangle in her syrup-coated hair when I move a strand behind her ear. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then you can watch a movie in my bed. Okay?"

She nods eagerly and moves her plate to the sink before following me out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Edward sits where I left him, but his eyes are dry, and his posture's more relaxed. "There's my girl." He grins when he sees Ava, and I've never been more proud of him than I am in that moment. Parenting is about so much more than pet names and ice cream treats; it's anticipating the emotional needs of your child, even when that means altering your own feelings to protect theirs.

"You're sad, Dad?" Ava moves to stand beside him, her small hand rubbing soothing circles on his arm. It's a calming technique I recognize as one I use on her.

"A little," Edward whispers. He grabs her hand and kisses her palm. "But I'm feeling better already."

"Mom said we can play after my movie."

"I can't wait."

I lead Ava to the bathroom to wash her hands and face, then turn on a movie for her in my bedroom. She chooses one she's already watched several times, but it's her favorite, and it will keep her happy and occupied while Edward and I talk.

My stomach's in knots when I rejoin Edward in the living room. My mind has already played through several possible scenarios in the short amount of time since he arrived, and none of them seem pleasant.

Reclined in defeat against the back of my couch, Edward turns his head to look at me when I sit beside him. "Sorry," he says softly.

"For what?"

"Bursting in here like this. Dropping a bunch of drama on you. I didn't— I wasn't sure where to go."

I draw my knees up to my chest, hoping the position change will alleviate the dull ache I feel inside.

"I'm glad you came here," I tell him truthfully. Even though I know the words he's about to share will hurt, I'm glad he feels like he has a safe place in Ava and me. "What happened?" I ask gently.

"I just felt optimistic, I guess." He scrubs his face roughly again, bumping his hat farther up on his head. "After yesterday, you know?"

I nod.

"I was actually excited." He scoffs. "That's the really fucked up part. I was _excited _to share her with them—with my family."

"What happened?" I repeat.

"My mom and sister are in shock. My dad, though…" He trails off nervously, his features alternating between rage and shame.

"It's okay," I prod. "They're just words. What did he say?"

"That I should demand a paternity test." He shakes his head, bewildered. "Even though I told him that she looks just like me. Even though I told him that you'd never…you hadn't—"

"What else?"

He swallows thickly around the words caught in his throat. "He… He thought you'd kept her from me, and he was fixated on my rights—my rights as a father. My rights as his son." His voice drips with disdain as he spits the last word. "He told me I should draw up papers…"

I think I knew it was coming, but it's like a physical punch to the gut, nonetheless. The breath that rushes out of me is a painful sounding sob.

Edward slides off the couch and drops to his knees in front of me. "Bella," he pleads, holding my face in his hands. "Bella, look at me."

I can't see his face through my tears; can't focus on anything other than the panicked sound of my pulse pumping in my ears.

"Hey. Shhh. I would neverdo that to you." He kisses my lips firmly. It's a kiss void of passion or heat. It's a desperate reassurance; a plea for me to listen and to understand. "I swear to you. I would _never_ try to take her from you."

"I'm all she has." Ava's never even been away from me, save for an occasional night spent at my parents'. Edward's and my current arrangement with our daughter is organic and simple, and I can't fathom being forced by a judge to split her with him. "I'm all she's _ever _had."

"I know," Edward whispers, pushing my bangs from my watery eyes. "Nobody's going to take her from you."

"But he said—"

"He's an asshole, Bella. This is what he does best. He makes a living bullying and intimidating people."

His father's words play on a loop in my head. _Draw up papers. Draw up papers__…_

"What about your mom? Does she agree with him?"

"She was too irrational to agree with anything. She and Leah—my sister—they were so upset that I hadn't told them. That Ava's six and they don't know her—" His voice cracks with emotion, and he clears his throat roughly, looking away from me to stare out the window. "I had no idea how many people I would hurt when I walked away that day."

"So what now?" I ask quietly, drying my face with the palms of my hands. "What happens next? Should I expect something from your dad?"

"No." His voice is strong and clear. "He's full of empty threats. Besides… I quit."

"You _what_?"

"I quit," he repeats, shrugging. "I can't work for him. Not after the way he talked about her. About _you_."

My head is spinning. There's so much to discuss here, and I don't even know where to begin. "What are you going to do?" I stumble over my words in my rush to get them out. "Where are you going to work? You just came back. You just met her—"

"Breathe, Bella." He chuckles softly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to call one of my old professors in the morning. He's got a few connections in the area; the type of law I actually _want _to practice."

"But your dad." I think back to all the things my brother has told me about Edward's father. "Emmett said—"

"He'll make it rough. I'll have loans to pay back and favors to repay, but I've got plenty saved. It's okay." He pulls me tight against his chest and kisses my hair. "We'll be okay."

* * *

><p>Edward seems more eager to redeem himself with my family after things went so horribly wrong with his parents and sister. He hasn't mentioned them and I haven't asked. I'm still too shaken up over his father's demands that Edward turn this thing between us into a legal battle, and I'm terrified of what that could mean for Ava and me—for all of us, really. Thankfully, Edward's equally appalled by his father's orders, and I'm relieved to learn that he hasn't acknowledged them at all. Rather than stress under the weight of his family problems and recent job loss, he actually appears happier and more at peace.<p>

This time, when I invite him to our family's weekly dinner, there aren't any butterflies in my stomach, and he doesn't hesitate to say he'll attend. When we arrive, and he and Emmett disappear with my dad into his study, I feel nervous for him, but not worried. I trust him—a shocking amount, based on our history—and I've seen how he handles uncomfortable situations. He's calm, cool, and collected, even when he's not, and that's incredibly comforting to me. It's also not at all unattractive.

And later, when Rose and Emmett announce over dinner that they've found a house and they're already in the process of signing the closing papers, it's Edward who leads me to a quiet hallway just off my parents' bedroom and lets me cry into his shirt. He hugs me tightly in the dark and whispers words like _strong _and _capable _in my ear.

I saw the signs. I knew this was coming. I'm happy for my brother and my best friend, but an incredibly bittersweet chapter of my life is coming to a close, and I'd be lying if I said I'm not sad to see it end. Emmett's been my protector and my friend. He was a father to Ava before her own daddy showed up, and he's never once asked me for anything in return. He's owed this happiness; he deserves it. I'm trying hard not to beg him to stay.

"Maybe it's for the best, in some weird way," I tell Edward on our ride back to my house later that night. Ava's asleep in the backseat, and I'm wishing I could join her there. It's been an emotionally exhausting week, and it's only Tuesday.

"How so?" he asks softly.

"Maybe I need this. This independence. Maybe I've lived under Emmett's wing long enough."

He hums, and I watch as the lights from the road and the dash dance across his angular face. "I don't think you've lived under his wing, Bella," he says eventually. "I think you were young—too young—to deal with something so big by yourself. _I _certainly didn't help—"

"This isn't about that."

"No, I know." He pauses, watching the road carefully as he considers his words. "It kinda is, though. I'd do it all differently if I could, but raising Ava by yourself… It's made you who you are. Smart. Strong. An incredible mom." He glances at me briefly, and I smile softly at his kind words.

"Do you think things would have been different for us?" I ask quietly.

"Different how?"

"I don't know." I fiddle nervously with the zipper on the bag in my lap. "Like, do you think we would've stayed...together? If I hadn't gotten pregnant."

He shakes his head. "No way."

"Geez. No offense or anything."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. I meant… I was an idiot." He scoffs. "I'm _still _an idiot. It took meeting Ava for me to figure that out."

The car is quiet while we digest what he's said. He's right: it's incredible how sharing a child can change two people; grow them up, push them apart or pull them together.

"I know one thing, though." Edward's voice pulls me back to reality.

"Hm?"

"Those tiny shorts you used to wear? With the little shirts? And the freckles?" He releases a sigh so big it puffs his cheeks. "I was a _lucky _idiot."

"Gross," I laugh, smacking his chest. He grabs my hand and wraps it up in his, bringing our clasped fingers to rest on his knee.

My face—bright eyes and a wide grin—is reflected back when I turn my flushed cheeks toward the window.

* * *

><p>"Bella. Hey. It's…uh, me. Sam."<p>

I falter at the sound of his voice, feeling guilty and wishing I hadn't forgotten to return his most recent missed call. "Hey, Sam. How're you?"

"I'm well, thanks." His voice sounds formal and distant, and it lends an air of awkwardness to our conversation. "I was actually calling to see if you're free this weekend?"

"This weekend?" I croak.

"Uh… Yeah?"

"Oh." I hate how this feels—letting him down again. "We're not, actually. We have this...thing. With my family. See, my brother's moving out—he and Rose bought a house together—and we're all going over to see their new place."

"You and Ava? Or you and Ava and Edward?"

"Sorry?"

His sigh rumbles through the phone. "I just… I'm trying to be fine with it, Bella, the amount of time you spend with him—"

"He's Ava's dad."

"No, I know." His voice loses its edge, and now he just sounds sad. "I know. I know how far the two of you have come and how hard you've worked to get there… It's just. I don't think you're really in this." He pauses, and I can hear the steady sound of his breath in my ear. "Not the way I am."

"Sam…"

His name hangs awkwardly in the air. I don't want to hurt him, but I also can't deny what he's saying. I'm _not _as invested in our barely-there relationship as he is. My life isn't so cut and dry. Things for me aren't easily labeled; they're not all in or all out. I have a child…and Edward.

"I don't know what to say," I finish lamely. "I really like you. You've been incredibly patient and understanding—"

"Ah, the proverbial but," he groans, laughing lightly.

"No, no buts. It's true. You've been more patient with me than I deserve. I know it's not easy, dealing with a weird situation like mine, and you've been so kind about everything, but—" He interjects with a hum that says, _I told you so_. "I'm just… I'm not sure I'm ready to be with someone yet."

"You mean someone who's not Edward."

"What?" I stammer. "No. Edward has nothing to do with this."

"Bella."

"Sam." I mimic.

"I just hope he's really in it this time," he says gently. "You deserve someone who's really in it."

He's right. He's sweet and respectful and so, so right. "I'm sorry, Sam," I tell him softly.

"Nah, don't be. I'm good. It's been a fun couple of months." He's back to the light-hearted guy I'd only just gotten to know. "Let's keep in touch. Have a drink or something, after Rose and Em get settled."

"I'd like that," I tell him truthfully.

"Take care, Bella."

* * *

><p>"So what does that mean? You dumped him?" Edward's grin is infectious, and I tamp down the matching smile that pulls at my lips. It's getting late—Ava's been asleep for hours already—but Edward's been spending more time in the evenings with us now that he doesn't have to be at work early the next day.<p>

"I didn't _dump_ him, Edward. Geez."

He waves his hand dismissively. "Semantics."

"It's not semantics," I insist. "Sam's a really great guy."

"But it's over? With him?"

"Edward." I sigh dramatically, nudging his leg with my socked foot. "You're making me wish I hadn't told you."

He pulls my foot into his lap. "I'm just gathering information."

"You're fishing."

"You started talking about what was happening with you and Sam—"

"You asked! Daily!"

Unabashed, he shrugs his shoulders and laughs. "I'm a curious guy."

"That's the truth," I murmur.

Edward tickles the bottom of my foot in retaliation, and I bat his hands away. We settle back into the couch, flipping through channel after channel of mindless television while I pretend to appear interested in what's on the screen. All I can think about, though, is how comfortable this is, this night with Edward—in my home, in my living room, on my couch—and how wholly complete it feels. Big things are changing in my life, and the irony isn't lost on me that the least stable person has suddenly become the most.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Much love and thanks to the amazing Tiffanyanne3 for her invaluable advice and guidance. Thanks also to Cejsmom, who dropped everything to lend me an ear and a heaping dose of self-confidence. **_

_**For those of you who're still reading and haven't given up on me—thanks for your patience. It means more to me than you know. XO**_


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

* * *

><p>Mr. Cullen opens the door for us. The perfect image of grace and class, he greets us with a wide, practiced smile.<p>

"Come in." He claps Edward's back, ignoring the way his son sidesteps his touch. When he turns his clear blue eyes on me, I make an effort not to fidget under their scrutiny. My patternless cotton dress has never felt so basic.

"You must be Bella," he says eventually, interrupting our staredown. Handsome like his son, he's all sharp lines and chiseled angles, but I'm surprised to learn that the features I find so appealing on Edward appear sinister and ominous on his father.

"It's nice to finally meet you," I reply, my friendly tone belying my opinion of him.

"Where's the baby?" Edward's father appears genuinely perplexed, which confuses me. It was Edward's idea to visit his parents for the first time without Ava. He reasoned that things might still be too heated, and I know he's already explained this to them over the phone.

"She's with Bella's parents," Edward mutters. "And she's six. Hardly a baby."

Mr. Cullen ignores his son. "Esme!" he calls, leading us through an impressive foyer and into a formal living room. "Esme!"

The click-clack of heels indicates Edward's mother's arrival. "I'm right here, Carl," she announces, gracefully making her way down the stairs.

Small and wispy, she's more beautiful than I remembered. With her thick, caramel hair and smooth, honeyed skin, she's so much like her son—so much like _Ava_—that the noticeable likeness steals the breath from my lungs.

Unlike her husband's forced greeting, Mrs. Cullen's welcome feels genuine. "Bella." She stands in front of me, grasping my clammy hands in hers. "Thank you so much for coming."

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Cullen."

"Call me Esme, dear." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Mrs. Cullen lives in Florida." She winks. "Let's keep her there."

Squeezing my fingers gently, she releases me and turns to Edward. The top of her head is level with his broad shoulders, a position she's familiar with based on the way she naturally folds herself against his side. Their greeting is whispered and private, but the soft smiles they exchange stir a hope in me that time and history will lessen the betrayal initially felt at the news of Ava's existence.

"Sit." Mr. Cullen's interrupting command is sharp, and I don't miss the way his wife's shoulders tense or how his son's eyes narrow in defiance. "Please," he mutters belatedly.

Esme offers us drinks and snacks, which we politely decline. If the look on Edward's father's face is any indication, I'm betting our visit will be a short one. My suspicions are confirmed when he settles into a large, leather chair and cuts right to the chase. "So," he begins, pinning me with his sharp glare. "Edward tells us you're a waitress."

"Here we go," Edward mutters under his breath. Then, to his father, "I also told you she's in school full-time, Dad."

His clarification is appreciated, but I don't need or want his rescue. "Edward's right," I confirm. "I've worked at the diner since shortly after Ava was born, Mr. Cullen."

"Call me Carl." It's a command rather than a request, and paired with his condescending smirk, it leaves me feeling like a child who's been brought to her father's office for a scolding.

My fake smile matches his. "Of course."

"And I suppose you know by now that Edward's a qualified lawyer at a very prestigious law firm?"

"Dad—"

"I know he worked at your firm previously, Carl," I reply, ignoring his son's buffer. "And I was incredibly supportive of his decision to pursue a new path. One that makes him happy."

Carl's eyes narrow slightly, but with his fingers steepled professionally under his chin, he's every bit the controlled lawyer he's known to be. "You don't mind that he neglected his daughter and her needs for six years? You just want him to… What was it you said?" He taps his lip in exaggerated contemplation. "Pursue a path that makes him…_happy_?"

"Jesus, Dad," Edward snaps. "That's enough. Our past is none of your business."

"It _is _my goddamn business!" Carl bellows, making me jump in my seat. "I put you through law school, you ungrateful little shit, while you were out screwing around and skirting your responsibilities. And you show up and pull this co-parenting nonsense? Without any thought to protecting our assets? It's disgusting. No son of mine—"

"Your _son_," Edward spits, "doesn't give a shit about your assets."

Carl's face is nearly purple, and for the first time I understand my brother's warnings. Carl Cullen is scary. Edward might be used to his father's rage, but I'm not. I don't want this for him. For us.

"Edward," I murmur, touching his knee lightly. "Let's just go."

His eyes hold mine for a moment, and I watch as the anger—not at all unlike his father's—funnels out of them. He nods tightly, clasping my hand and pulling me to my feet.

"Edward, no." Esme grabs her son's arm. "Please. Don't leave."

"I'm not doing this again, Mom."

"Of course not," she agrees, shaking her head. "We'll talk about this like civilized adults. Right, Carl?"

It's heartbreaking, the way she pleads with her husband to grant her his calmness. My family isn't perfect, but we're not screamers. I can only imagine the stress of being married to a man who rages, the stress of being his son.

Carl's agreement comes in the form of a carefully controlled nod. "Esme," he grinds out. "These things _need_ to be discussed."

"Yes," she agrees, "but calmly."

At his mother's insistence, Edward and I sit gingerly on the couch once more while a tense silence settles over the room.

"My apologies, Bella," Esme says eventually. "I'm sure you can understand our…frustrations. We've just learned that we have a six-year-old granddaughter whose mother is a girl we never even knew our son dated—"

"Oh, we never dated."

Edward's cheeks flush pink at my admission, and I immediately regret how crass it sounded. It feels like an important part of our story, but it's obvious that this isn't the right time for me to have shared it.

"We were so young," I rush to clarify, "and we made a lot of irresponsible decisions—"

"_I _made a lot of irresponsible decisions," Edward cuts in.

"We _both_ did."

Edward disregards my argument and faces his father. "But you're right, Dad. I neglected my responsibilities, and I chased _your _dreams while Bella raised Ava alone."

Carl dismisses his son with a wave of his hand. "You always wanted to be a lawyer."

"Maybe," Edward replies, shrugging. "But I never knew there were other options."

"I've only wanted what's best for you. I've only _ever _wanted what's best."

"This _is_ what's best for me! I'm not fighting Bella for Ava, and I'm not working at the firm." Edward meets his father's glare head-on. "I'll agree to pay back everything you've given me, but I won't keep having this conversation. I _know _I screwed up. I lost six years with my daughter and ruined multiple relationships—"

"I'm simply protecting our family, Edward. I've dedicated my _life_ tobuilding our reserves, and I won't stand by and watch it all go to—"

"I paid Bella a couple hundred bucks in guilt money when I left, Dad. That's it! She's never asked me for a single dime, and your insinuation that she's after our family's money is just…_preposterous_. She's owed _years_ of back child support!"

"Edward," I interject quietly. "Don't." These pieces of our past feel too private and raw to be publicly dissected by his ruthless father.

He studies my face briefly before addressing Carl again, calmer this time. "My point is… We're working through it, and we don't want your advice or your input. Not about that."

Carl's face is less purple, but his steely posture nearly vibrates with unspoken disapproval.

Edward turns to his mother. "I'd love for you to be part of Ava's life," he tells her quietly, looking at me for approval.

"Of course," I agree.

"Bella's done a great job of protecting her from our pasts," he continues. "And, thankfully, Ava has no idea that she wasn't, uh... She wasn't planned, but she's not a mistake. You can't punish her for my decisions."

Esme raises her clasped hands fervidly. "Edward, I would _never_—"

"No, I know…" He trails off, glancing at his father. "But I'm not taking any chances when it comes to Ava and Bella. Not this time."

. . .

We agree to stay for a lunch of homemade chicken salad, which I learn is Edward's favorite. Carl retreats to his office, but based on his family's indifference, I suspect his absence is common. Preferred, even.

"Leah will be so disappointed she missed you, Bella," Esme says, expertly dicing fresh fruit to pair with our meal. "She's at a conference in Colleyville this weekend."

Edward's sister Leah is a second-grade teacher at a nearby elementary school. Esme explains that both she and Leah have their teaching degrees, although Esme let her license lapse years ago in lieu of managing Carl's office.

"Leah's been the level-headed one throughout all of this," she continues, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "She manages to empathize with her brother _and _her father." She laughs. "Something I've never been very good at."

"You do just fine, Mom," Edward mutters, shaking his head. "Dad doesn't make things easy."

"You're sure I can't help you do anything, Esme?" I ask, steering the subject away from Edward's father. It's not often that I partake in a meal that I didn't prepare, and I feel slightly awkward sitting idly by while she cooks.

"I'm almost done here." Her smile is wide and genuine. "But thank you, Bella."

She moves around the kitchen with effortless ease while I browse the row of built-ins lining the breakfast nook. There are photos mixed with knickknacks perched atop books, and I pick one up and finger its frame. It's a younger Edward, all sun-kissed cheeks and a wide, toothless grin. His shorts are neon and his hair appears slightly longer in the back.

Smiling, I feel the warmth of larger, older Edward against my back. His warm breath scatters the fine hairs at the base of my ponytail. "The '90s were a very delicate time for me," he whispers.

I snort. "I'll say."

He pinches my side. "Don't think I haven't noticed that picture of you in your Dad's office. I think your bangs could've given my mullet a run for its money."

"Those bangs were exactly like Ariel's, and they were perfect."

"If you say so."

"Ava looks so much like you," I say quietly, running my finger across the photo. "I've known that for years, but it keeps surprising me."

He hums in agreement.

"It's like I wasn't involved at all."

"That's not true." He chuckles lowly, and I feel the vibration of it against my back, feel it tickle my hair. "She has your eyes."

"She has green eyes, Edward. They're yours."

"Maybe in color. But the kindness… That's all you."

He guts me with these comments. It's obvious he's lacked kindness in his life, save for his mother and his sister, and the fact that he's open about how much he admires my gentle nature makes my heart swell.

"You want the tour?" he asks, grabbing my hand and giving it a playful tug.

I'm grateful for the shift from heavy to light. "Sure."

Edward winds me through his childhood home, stopping in each room to give me specifics about its purpose or history. The house is stylishly decorated and immaculate, yet it feels homey and comfortable. It's the type of house I wanted when I was a little girl, and it doesn't escape my notice that the home Edward ran from when he was younger is exactly the one I wished I'd had.

We pause outside Carl's office door, an unspoken agreement to proceed as quietly as possible passing between us, before moving to a lone room near the end of a long hallway.

"This one was mine," Edward says, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and shrugging awkwardly.

"Ah. Teenage Edward's room." I sigh dreamily, and he laughs, shaking his head and leading me inside. "I'm betting your decorating style was a subtle mix of baseball and boobs."

I couldn't be more wrong. Edward's childhood room is neutral and sparsely decorated: a plaid bedspread folded across a small bed, a mostly empty bulletin board, and a few law books piled neatly on a nearby bookshelf.

"I stayed here for a few weeks when I first moved back," Edward reminds me when he sees me eyeing the books. "A few _incredibly long _weeks."

"It's actually not at all what I expected." I circle the room once more before sitting beside him at the foot of the bed.

"You seriously thought it'd be baseball and boobs?"

"The Edward I remember wasn't interested in much else."

He shakes his head, plucking a loose thread from the bedspread. "Not true. The Edward you remember had plenty of interests. I just got caught up in a bunch of shit along the way."

"The Laurens and Jessicas of the world?"

"Don't remind me." He groans, scrubbing at his face as though he's attempting to physically remove the memories. "I'd give anything to be able to go back and do things differently."

"Which things?" I ask quietly, wondering if he's talking about the things he and I did together, or the things he did before, during, and after me.

"Everything," he says, holding up a finger for each regret. "I wouldn't have hidden you or made you feel like you weren't good enough. I wouldn't have lied to Emmett or snuck around behind his back. I _definitely_ wouldn't have—" He sucks in a deep breath, dropping his eyes to his lap. "Not in the car. Not like that. It fucks with my head, you know? That your first time was…that we made Ava...like _that._"

My cheeks heat at the mention of my first time, our_ only_ time, and I nod, because I _do _know. Part of me wants to placate him, tell him it's not a big deal, that it's fine. But another part of me, a larger and more mature part, recognizes the levity of my less-than-ideal first experience. Things were awkward and rushed and meaningless to one of us. I can't change the past, so I remain silent instead.

"I promise to make it up to you," Edward says quietly, and I give him a suspicious sideways glance. "Not _that_," he remedies, laughing. "Well, not _just _that." He slides his eyebrows up and down mischievously.

"Ugh." I roll my eyes, trying and failing to hide my smile. "So predictable."

He wraps an arm around my neck, pulling me against his chest and dropping a kiss to the top of my head. It's friendly and playful, and it makes my stomach dance. "Thanks for coming with me today," he says quietly against my hair. "I know it can't be easy for you, and… Well, I'm sorry for a million things, but one of my biggest regrets is that you're having to live this all over again."

I don't bother telling him that my heart will never be as broken as it was when he walked away from me and his baby. I don't mention that this—reliving others' reactions to the news of Ava—is _nothing _compared to the feeling of being rejected by him.

"They'll come around, Edward," I tell him softly and from experience. "It just takes time."

His hand makes mindless circles over my shoulder and back while he contemplates my advice. "I'm sorry you know so much about that," he says eventually. "About waiting and forgiveness. I'm sorry _I__'__m _the one who taught you those lessons."

I'm learning that these moments, when he's full of apology and shame, are necessary steps for him to sort out our pasts and settle his conscience. I no longer feel compelled to appease him or offer forgiveness.

We sit in companionable silence for a bit, each of us caught in our own web of thoughts and feelings and memories. Finally, he squeezes my thigh gently. "Should we head back?"

I nod. It scares me a bit, but I think I'd follow him anywhere.

. . .

My mom has Ava bathed and pajamaed when we arrive to pick her up a few hours later. "Just let her sleep here, Bella," she pleads with me. "She's already settled in. Look. We're about to make sundaes!"

I roll my eyes, because there's never a visit at my parents' that doesn't involve _some _sort of sugary snack.

"Yeah, Momma, _please_," Ava begs, grabbing a nearby jar of maraschino cherries and hugging it tightly. When I remain unconvinced, she turns her charms on Edward. "_Please_, Dad?"

Edward chuckles, plucking a cherry from the jar. "Up to your mom, Bug." He shrugs. "I'm on her team."

"Gee, thanks," I mutter, stealing a cherry for myself. "I guess it's fine. But no staying up late. And you _must_ brush your teeth before bed. Promise?"

"Promise!" she squeals. She palms a handful of sprinkles, tilts her head back, and deposits them expertly in her mouth.

Edward and I exchange amused glances, and he raises an eyebrow in silent question. Do I want him to step in, or would I rather handle it myself? _Go right ahead, _I mouth.

"Easy on the sugar, Ava," he tells her, firmly, but not unkindly. "You're missing enough teeth as it is."

He ruffles her hair, dropping a kiss on top of the nest he made, then moves aside to give me room.

"Be good," I whisper in my girl's ear. "And have fun. I'll be back to pick you up in the morning."

Tossing my keys and phone inside my purse, I zip it up neatly and follow Edward to the door.

"Momma?"

Ava's mouth is stained blue, and her eyes look sugar-wild. "Yeah, Bug?"

"Will Daddy live at our house? Now that Uncle Em's moving away?"

I freeze, blindsided by her line of questioning. I knew this was coming, but…not now, not like this. Edward tenses beside me, his face reflecting the same surprised bewilderment I feel.

"No," I say eventually, attempting to temporarily make light of a very heavy question. "Your dad has his own house, remember?"

She nods and dips her spoon in the cherry jar, seemingly having lost interest in the conversation already. "'Yup."

"Okay then." I chuckle nervously. "Bye?"

Her gap-toothed grin is wide, and cherry juice runs in rivulets down her chin. "Bye!"

. . .

Edward convinces me to make the most of my kid-free night and grab a drink with him. We end up at Fran's East Side, a dive bar just around the corner from his place. It's seedy and stinks of stale smoke and booze, but it's oddly comforting in its lack of pretension, and I find that I'm grateful for the relaxed way Edward and I blend right in. Especially after a long day of tension.

"Em and I used to sneak in here all the time," Edward tells me once we've snagged a high-top. He smiles at the memory.

"You're kidding," I say, laughing. "I figured a place like this would eat high school punks for lunch."

"Nah. Em knew one of the bartenders."

I wrinkle my nose. "And by _knew_, I'm guessing you mean…"

Edward's playful smile confirms my suspicions. He slides my glass across the table, sloshing my too-full beer over the side and coating his fingers in the process. I watch with rapt attention as he brings them to his mouth to suck them clean.

When I find his eyes again, he's staring at me, smiling a secret smile.

"What?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head, grinning.

I look away, embarrassed to have been caught staring, and he takes pity on me and changes the subject. "Thanks again for today," he says, his quiet voice carrying smoothly across the table despite the bar's loud music and crowd. "I'm glad you were there."

His eyes squint slightly at the corners as he takes a long pull from his drink, and I find myself studying him again: his long fingers and the way they grip his glass, covering the bar's logo in the most masculine way; how he folds his elbows across the table when he's sitting, watching, listening.

I hide my face behind my glass, hoping he hasn't caught me staring again. "It was nice to finally meet your parents."

"Yeah." He snorts. "Right."

"Your mom's pretty great, Edward," I point out, not wanting to talk badly about his father. Experience has taught me that it's okay to vent about family as long as they're _your _family.

We rehash today's visit with his parents and discuss Ava's abrupt question from earlier, and before I know it, my glass is empty. "You want another?" he asks, tilting his chin toward the bar.

"Sure." I shrug. I'm not a big drinker—my face already feels sensitive and flushed—but I'm kid-free tonight, and I figure one more can't hurt.

Three beers later, we're somehow side-by-side. Edward's denim-clad knee is pressed against my bare one, and the warm skin of his elbow and forearm are settled right next to mine. If there was any lingering formality between us, we've drunk it away. Suddenly, after six years of absence and one stolen kiss, we're on the most familiar of terms.

Edward's hand grips my knee for balance as he leans across me to reach the drink menu, and when he leaves it there, I grab his bicep and tuck in closer to his side. Touching him this way feels like the most natural thing I've ever done, and if it weren't for his hooded eyes and the steady sweep of his thumb burning a fire across my thigh, I might think we'd been doing this for years.

He tilts his head so that we're nearly eye to eye. "All good?"

His breath is warm and smells like the beer he's been drinking. It's heady and intoxicating, and I'm once again reminded of the changes in this newer, older Edward: his sharp jaw and rough stubble, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the way he presses his palm to the small of my back when I'm talking, ensuring that I have his undivided attention.

I nod, too overcome by Edward's nearness to offer much more. This bar is loud and smoky and not the least bit private, but our proximity leaves me feeling raw and exposed. I lean my head against his arm, suddenly overwhelmed and unable to meet his eyes.

"Hey," he whispers, squeezing my thigh. His face is right there, and I know that lifting mine means making a conscious decision to take this someplace new. Someplace where I'm not sixteen or attached to someone else, where we're finally on the same page, moving at the same pace.

When my eyes meet his, it's the last bit of permission he was looking for. His strong hands cup my jaw, angling my face as he presses his lips firmly to mine. He's warm and soft, and his mouth moves with a familiarity that makes my heart ache.

When he bites my bottom lip gently, my body warms in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol. When he tugs my knees, roughly turning me so that his leg is pressed between mine in just the right spot, I grind against him to let him know that it's exactly what I need, exactly what I _want_.

His tongue is hot and needy and every bit as mind-numbing as I remembered. "Please," I pant, when his open mouthed kisses travel from my mouth to my ear to my neck. "Please."

"Please what?" he murmurs. "What do you want?"

His hands manipulate my jaw so that our eager mouths find each other in exactly the right way. I can't think clearly. My head is capable of only one word, one thought: Edward.

"I want… I want… "

"What?" He's nearly growling, and coupled with the small bites he delivers to the soft skin at the base of my ear, it's enough to draw a moan from somewhere deep and untapped in the center of my chest. "Tell me."

"You," I plead. "I want…you."

"Not here," he whispers, palming my hair back behind my ear. His hooded eyes search mine, and he places a softer, gentler kiss against my swollen lips. "Not like this."

His comment is sobering. Am I really so far gone that I'd consider hooking up with Edward in the bathroom of a bar? Or, even more reminiscent of our past, in the _car_?

I shake my head, hoping to clear it. "No," I mutter. "Of course not."

"Can you walk?" Edward's hands grip the back of my neck, rubbing it gently. "We can't drive, but…my place isn't far. Just around the corner."

Despite my less-than-clear head, I know what following him out of this bar means. It changes everything. It's my past colliding with my present, and they both include an Edward who has the potential to change everything.

"Bella," he says gently, as though he's read my mind. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. I want...so much...with you, but I'm not in a hurry." He kisses my mouth softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes are hooded but clear, and they search mine with a vulnerability that rarely shows itself. It's surreal, having his hands on me so openly and freely. We're not hiding or questioning our actions tonight, and it's freeing in the most liberating of ways. I'm tired of being the responsible one. I want, for once, to listen to my heart.

"Let's go."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **A few, quick things: _

_**- Tiffanyanne3 **and I wrote a collab for the Ruggedward contest and, amazingly, it won! It's posted on my profile if you'd like to check it out. _

_Much love and thanks to Cejsmom for her time and encouragement and for giving me new ideas to chew on. And to Tiff, my beta and friend. I love you like crazy. _


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

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><p>Edward grips my hand tightly as he leads me back to his house. We cut through side streets to avoid the traffic on the main road, and the cadence of our steps matches the rapid rise and fall of my chest. The thought of what lies ahead is intoxicating, but the list of <em>what-ifs<em> presses back, abruptly sobering me up.

We sneak through a neighbor's yard and approach Edward's house from the back. It's pitch black and lifeless, and I'm comforted by the realization that he didn't plan for our night to end this way. I wrap my arms around myself as he fumbles with the lock, grateful for the stolen moment and the chance to slow down and think clearly. The muscles in Edward's forearms cord as he lifts the key at just the right angle, causing the latch pop and both of us to jump. He chuckles nervously, making me think he's just as affected by this—the quietness, the darkness, the anticipation—as I am.

"Sorry," he mutters, embarrassed. "This lock… I need to replace it."

Edward guides me inside with a hand on the small of my back, the light from a single lamp bathing his mudroom in a yellow glow. He follows closely behind me, latching the door and dropping his keys on a nearby console table. Each new noise seems louder than the one before it, and I wonder if it's the anticipation of this moment or the rareness of being completely alone with him that heightens my senses, alerting me to the smaller details of his home: the intoxicating scent of laundry detergent and cinnamon gum, a smell I didn't even realize I associated with him until now; the peaceful calmness; the familiar way he moves throughout the rooms, switching on lamps and bashfully tidying small piles of clutter.

I follow him into the living room, watching silently as he gathers a tossed-aside throw blanket and drapes it haphazardly over his couch. "You wanna sit down?"

"No." I smile shyly. "I'm good."

It's liberating being here with him, and it's a decision I can no longer hide behind the excuse of too much alcohol. False confidence may have gotten me to this point, but each step I make now is taken with a clear, conscious mind.

Edward clears his throat. "Do you want a drink?"

I shake my head.

His eyebrows climb. "What, uh… What do you want to do?"

I walk toward him silently. It feels important for me to choose this, to _lead_ this. I'm not a teenager anymore. I want him, and this time it's not just because he's a cute boy with smooth words and sly touches.

My palms press lightly against his stomach when I close the gap between us, and I rise to my toes, pressing a small kiss to his lips. He's warm and familiar, and rather than nerves and fear, it's sweetness and anticipation that tickle my stomach and kickstart my heart.

He brings his hands to my face, cupping my jaw and covering my mouth with his. His kisses are soft and thorough, but my memory is sharp, and I know he's holding back. This is only a small part of what he has to offer.

When I bite his full bottom lip, he groans, and his hands turn from gentle to needy as he rakes his fingers through my hair roughly, biting me back, then soothing the sting with his tongue.

I fist his shirt, pulling him flush against me. He's taller and wider than when we were younger, and a rush of feminine vulnerability washes over me when I feel his hardness pressed against my stomach. I've missed the literal act of handing control over to someone else.

"Take this off," he murmurs, tugging at the thin sweater buttoned over the top of my dress. "I want to feel you."

His lips find my neck when I break our kiss to follow his command. I work the buttons on the front of my sweater, sliding it from my shoulders. Impatient, Edward yanks it down my arms, tossing it blindly to the side and trailing his hands over newly exposed skin. His long fingers grip my wrist, and he lifts my arm up and around his neck, sliding his fingertips down the sensitive underside to rest in the dip of my waist.

"I almost forgot how pretty you are," he whispers, his hooded green eyes assessing my face. "After I left, I didn't let myself remember."

"Edward—"

"I don't want to ruin this. I just…" His hands leave my body to cup my face once more. "I'm glad I'm here. With you."

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by his honesty. He's my highest highs and lowest lows, and the manic shift between the two leaves me feeling stripped bare and exposed. I want to tell him a million things: that I'm equally thankful we're here together, that I love how he's changed, how he loves Ava, how I love...

The words sound scary, so I push them down and let my body respond instead.

Our lips find each other again, and this time when he presses against me, I grind shamelessly, using my teeth and tongue and hips to show him what I'm too afraid to say. His hands on my waist alternate between give and take as he holds me against him and pushes me back one step at a time. The cool leather of his couch hits the back of my knees, and I pull him with me as I fall, welcoming the weight and warmth of his body as it covers mine.

"Take this off," I whisper, repeating his words from earlier. My palms push under his thin shirt, meeting the warm, smooth flesh of his stomach. Without hesitation, Edward rises to his knees, gripping the back of his collar and pulling the shirt over his head. His shoulders are sun-kissed brown and wider than I remembered, and the way they strain and flex under the weight of his body makes me rub my legs together, desperate to quell the ache between them.

Edward moves my knees to the side, rubbing a rough palm down my thigh as he drops kisses to my neck.

"What're you thinking?" he murmurs low and soft against my skin. His green eyes are hooded, but there's concern behind the lust. I make an effort to control my breathing and grant him my full attention.

"About what?"

"About this." His palm squeezes me high up, just below the elastic of my underwear. "Is this okay?"

"Edward," I say gently, covering his hand with mine. "I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't okay."

"I know, but last time…"

"Last time I was fifteen," I remind him. "And you were horny. A lot has changed."

He snorts. "I'm pretty fucking horny right now, Bella."

I can feel him long and hard against my hip, and even though I don't say it out loud, I'm glad at least one thing has stayed the same. "I'm fine, Edward," I assure him. "_We're _fine. Let's not overthink this."

"You're right." He presses his lips to mine softly, but when I try to deepen the kiss, he pulls back and sits up. "It's just…"

I groan. "What?"

"I'm such a girl," he mutters, tugging at his hair in frustration. "Sorry. I just…I really want to do things right this time."

I lean against him, hiding my smile in his neck. He's first-time shy and awkward, and it's comforting to know that the playing field is level, at least when it comes to life beyond one-night stands.

"Are you doing this with anyone else, Edward?" I ask, letting my lips brush against his ear.

"What?" He shakes his head in confusion. "No. Of course not."

"Are you drunk?" I bite him softly. "Is this a drunken hookup?"

"Not even a little," he answers roughly.

I move my mouth from his ear to the sharp line of his jaw. When I suck, he hisses, and his hands tighten their grip on my waist. "Have you changed at all? Since we were teenagers?"

A small groan tells me he's finally catching on. "God, I hope so."

"And is _that_"—I palm his hardness—"because you want this? With me?"

He grabs my wrist, pinning it beside my head as he pushes me onto my back. Edward nudges my knees apart roughly and lowers himself so that we're pressed firmly together, hardness to heat. "Okay." He nips at my neck playfully. "I get it."

Wiggling underneath him, I squeal, trying to push him off before he marks me. Lips and teeth suck and soothe the thin skin above my collarbone until, eventually, I abandon my protests and offer my neck willingly instead.

My hands can't touch him enough. My lips seek his kisses, and my hips won't stop rolling. Each touch brings sweet relief and a promise of what's to come, and my needy body wants only one thing: him.

I claw at Edward's back as he grabs my thigh, lifting my leg higher and fitting himself against me snugly. He presses where I need it, and I cry out as his grinding ignites a flutter in my center that quickly builds into something so strong it arches my back and stills my hips.

Edward kisses me hard while my body heaves with pleasure, holding me tightly as I ride out each delicious wave. When the pulsing stops, he smooths my bangs from my flushed face and finds my mouth again, gentle and thorough this time.

"That was…" He buries his face in my hair. "God."

Light-headed and disoriented, I run my nails across his back while my heart calms its pounding.

Edward hums contentedly as I scratch, until, eventually, I snake my hand between us, reaching for his belt buckle and giving it a tug. It releases with an audible clang.

"Bella." His voice is muffled and warm against my neck. "What're you doing?"

I work the button on his jeans. "I'm returning the favor."

Rising slightly, he grabs my wrist once more, pulling my hand away from his pants and dropping a gentle kiss to my palm instead. "There's plenty of time for that," he says softly. "No rush. I'm not going anywhere."

Edward's eyes flicker back and forth between mine, and the honesty in them squeezes my too-full heart. Anxiety and one-sided worship motivated my decisions the last time I offered my body to him, and their absence is a welcome relief tonight. He's not slipping through my fingers or pulling away before he's even come undone. He's real and tangible and present, and he's right. No regrets and no rushing. This time is different.

* * *

><p>Later, in his bed, we're intimate in a way we've never been before. The moon paints Edward's bedroom in a blueish tint, casting dark shadows across his face and chest and granting me the courage I need to bare myself to him for the first time since giving birth to our child.<p>

Edward unhooks my bra, letting it fall from my shoulders. I fold my arms across my chest, catching it against me and using it as a literal shield against a moment of uncertainty. My breasts aren't the same as they were all those years ago, and they aren't the same as most girls' my age. I fed our daughter with my body.

"Nursing leaves things…"

"Stop," he whispers, silencing me with soft kisses and gentle hands. "You're perfect."

This time our touches are slow and our looks linger. He stares, and I let him. My body's imperfections feel less like insecurities and more like memories finally ready to be shared. Edward never saw my belly grow or felt the kicks and flips of the life we created. He missed out, and I did, too. I wonder, though, as I flush under the gaze of his adoration, if this is what it feels like to welcome a tiny, new life with love by your side.

* * *

><p>"Bella."<p>

Small kisses against my neck and shoulder draw goosebumps across my body.

"Bella." More kisses. "Wake up."

My eyes stay closed, and I burrow further into the warmth at my back. Edward's fingers span my belly, rubbing softly, while his nose follows a line of kisses up and down the side of my neck.

I press myself into him and he hisses. He's thick and hard against my ass, and when I grind a little, he pushes back. A thin layer of cotton separates us, and while I know he's right about not rushing, there's nothing I want more in this moment than to feel him inside me.

"How're you so wet already?" he whispers, inching his fingers below my underwear and between my folds. He gathers me on his fingers and retreats a bit, spreading my wetness around in small circles. Sleeping against him all night has me wanting and needy, and it doesn't take more than a few swirls and fingers before I'm grinding myself against his hand.

Just like last night, he buries his head in my neck after I come down, groaning as he pulls his fingers from my still sensitive flesh. "So fucking hot," he mumbles.

When I shift to my side and grab him through his boxer-briefs, he throws an arm over his eyes and groans once more. "Bella," he warns. "I'm close…"

"Shh." I squeeze him tightly before lowering his underwear over his length. "Let me make you feel good."

My hand makes circular passes over his smooth flesh, and I revel in the sigh that leaves his lips when my fist bumps his tip. There's such power in watching his body respond to my touch. It's heady and exhilarating and…natural.

"Like this?" I whisper, slowing my speed and tightening my grip.

The muscle in his jaw clenches with each pass of my hand. "Yeah."

It doesn't take long until he's swollen and throbbing and alerting me through gritted teeth. Moving my hand faster, I watch with fascination as he pulses, digging his fingers into my bare thigh before spilling onto his stomach and my fist.

It's a rush, knowing I can make him do…_that_. I grin against his chest while his breathing levels out, relieved to be hidden from view by the arm still covering his eyes. Eventually, though…

"Tissue?" I squeak.

He laughs big and deep, pulling me against his chest and dropping a kiss to my forehead. "No tissues, but…" He cranes his neck, reaching for last night's discarded undershirt on the floor. "Here. Use this."

I take it hesitantly. "You're sure?"

"It's just a shirt, Bella," he teases. "What kind of guy would I be if I didn't know how to wash jizz out of my clothes?"

I halt my cleanup, scrunching my nose at his comment. "Nice."

Shrugging unabashedly, he grabs the shirt from my hands, tossing it smoothly into a basket across the room. "Come on." He sits up, pulling me with him and smacking my butt. "I'm starving. Let me feed you before we go pick up our girl."

* * *

><p>We stop at the diner on our way to my parents'. Maria greets us at the door, and I'm immediately relieved to see it's her shift we've stumbled upon and not Kate's. Maria doesn't know me well enough to recognize the meaning of Edward's and my early morning arrival. If Kate were here, she'd assume we…<p>

My cheeks flush hot with the memory of Edward's hands on me—_in _me—last night and this morning.

"You good?" Edward blows the steam off his coffee while I study the menu I've had memorized for years.

"Yeah?" I glance at him, confused. "Why?"

His lips curl smugly. "Your cheeks," he replies. "They're pink."

"Oh." I fan myself with the menu. "It's hot in here, right?"

"Nope."

Caught, I scowl at him playfully. "Drink your coffee," I mutter.

Edward orders bacon and eggs and grits, and I nibble an omelet while thoughts of last night tumble around in my head. This morning has been natural and easy, and I can't deny that there's a part of me that's relieved things haven't grown awkward.

As if he plucked the thought from my brain, Edward asks, around a bite of bacon, if I'm okay with everything that's happened. I'm surprised by his directness, but it also feels nice to know that he's making an effort to keep things open and honest.

"I'm fine," I reply, laying my fork down gently. "I've spent a lot of time thinking about"—I wave a hand back and forth between us—"this."

"And what is…_this_?" He mimics my movements with a smile.

"I don't know." I haven't given myself permission to label us or box things in, and I shrug, unsure how to answer him. "Two parents having breakfast?"

The smile slides from his face. "Is that what this is? Co-parenting with benefits?"

"No," I rush to clarify. "Of course not. I…I enjoyed last night." My face burns with embarrassment at my candid admission. "A lot. I just meant…it also feels really good to have a partner now. With Ava."

"I like that part, too," he says softly.

"I always hoped you'd be a part of her life," I continue. Once tapped, my thoughts bubble up quickly. "I just…never thought you and I would…you know. Whatever."

He nods, that smug smile tugging at his lips again. "The whatevering is good."

Maria returns to top off our coffees, saving me from Edward's teasing. He thanks her politely, waiting until she's a few steps away before diving right back in. "Don't forget this morning."

"What?"

"You said you enjoyed last night. I'm saying this morning was good, too."

I roll my eyes at him over the rim of my cup. "I think our _whatevering_ has affected your ego."

He grins, snagging my legs between both of his and caging me in. Our difficulties have made our triumphs sweeter, and these light, playful moments send happiness bubbling through me like a brook. It's overwhelming, the swelling of my heart. It's like staring at the sun too long; I have to look away.

We eat quietly, sharing embarrassed smiles—me— and playful glances—him—until the sound of Edward's vibrating phone demands his attention. Scowling, he silences it quickly and moves it aside.

"Everything okay?" I ask hesitantly.

"My mom." He sighs. "She's blowing up my phone."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not really. She and my sister…" He looks at me warily. "They're on a mission to meet Ava."

I stay quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn't, I ask, "Does that bother you?"

"I don't want her to go through what I did. As a kid, you know?"

I nod. I've had the very same thoughts before, about wanting more for Ava than what I had. It's a natural part of parenting, and it's yet another sign that Edward's propensity for fatherhood is strong.

My parents didn't get it right with my brother and me, but they're amazing grandparents. I'd hate for Edward's anger to override his parents' effort. "Can I tell you what I've learned? Or does that annoy you?"

He grabs my hand. "Not at all."

"They're different," I say. "Our parents. They're not the same as when we were kids. I mean they're still _them_, and some things will never change, but I can tell you from experience that your parents will probably be different with Ava than they were with you."

He scoffs. "Have you met my dad?"

"He's tough," I agree. "But your mom's great. And it sounds like Leah is, too."

Our visit with Edward's parents yesterday wasn't easy. I'm not looking forward to the hurdles we'll face with his father or the awkwardness that will come with explaining how we ended up in the situation we're in. Having a child when you're still a child yourself invites judgement and criticism, neither of which is new to me. The difference now, is that I'm not facing it alone.

"We'll figure it out," I repeat his words from last night. "There's no rush. I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

><p><em>Bella's breasts are rock hard, and her tired eyes are so swollen with sleep deprivation that they're blurry and sensitive. <em>

"_Gas drops…gas drops," she murmurs, scanning the overwhelming aisle of infant and baby care products. Her eye stutters over a small box containing an even smaller bottle, the sacred words she's searching for stamped across its front:_ Little Tummy's Gas Relief Drops. _She's so happy she thinks she could cry. _

_She grabs a box, then another for good measure, and adds them to the stack of nursing pads and newborn diapers already occupying her handheld basket. _

_Her phone buzzes with a text from her brother. _

**She just woke up, and she ain't happy. Hurry.**

_Bella's tired feet carry her to the checkout counter. She remembers the days—months ago, although it feels like years— when she'd aimlessly stroll these very aisles, trying on samples of nail polish and reading the backs of haircare products. She nearly laughs out loud at the prospect of such luxuries these days. _

"_Bella?" Surprised, the new mom spins, hand to heart. "I thought that was you!" _

_Edward's mother is one of the last people she wants to see. She's tired and hormonal and raising a fatherless eight-week-old, the irony of which is not lost on her as she looks the abandoner's mother in the eye. She doesn't have the energy for this. _

"_Hi, Mrs. Cullen," she answers tiredly, placing her items one by one on the conveyer belt. _

_Esme feels her smile slip as she takes in the young girl's appearance: messy hair, purple shadows under each eye, two matching wet spots slowly spreading across the front of her stretched-out cotton shirt…_

"_Everything okay, Bella?" she asks softly. _

_She watches as the young girl loads an assortment of baby-related products onto the counter. The air is heavy with tension, and Esme feels confused and uncomfortable. _

_Eventually, Bella's expression shifts, and she offers the older woman a kind smile. "I'm fine, Mrs. Cullen. Thanks." _

"_How's Emmett?" Esme thinks of her son's friend often. She doesn't know why he backed out of attending school with Edward, but she realizes—as she stares at the young mom before her—that there must be more to the story than what her son gave her. _

"_He's doing well," Bella answers politely. _

"_I know Edward misses him," Esme persists. "He's just been so busy adjusting to school and baseball and—" _

"_I'm sorry, Mrs. Cullen. I'm in a bit of a hurry. It was nice seeing you again." Bella forces a smile. She knows there are good intentions layering the kind woman's words, but the absurdity of the situation—making small-talk with her baby's unaware grandmother—is more than she can handle._

"_Of course, dear." Esme returns her smile and lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Take care." _

_Bella misses the backward glances she gives her as she walks away._

* * *

><p>"<em>Hello?" <em>

"_Edward?" _

"_Yeah, Mom. It's me." _

"_I can't tell you boys apart these days." Esme's laugh sounds slightly nervous. Edward's roommates are loud and obnoxious, polar opposites of the introverted persona he donned like a cloak when he arrived on campus. He doesn't bother to correct her. "It's been so long since we spoke," she continues. "How are things?" _

"_Things are fine, Mom." Edward's words are guarded and to-the-point. "Just busy with classes." He pauses. "I'm, uh. I'm sorry I didn't make it home for Thanksgiving. Finals, you know?"_

"_Of course," Esme replies softly. "I understand." _

"_How's Leah?"_

"_She misses you." Esme uses her daughter as an excuse to put words to feelings she's too nervous to share. "She wishes you'd visit more often." _

"_Tell her I'll come home for a weekend soon." The heavy silence over the staticky phone line is an ominous representation of their strained relationship. "She still teaching at that school in Hurst?"_

"_No, she's in Colleyville now. Which reminds me. You'll never guess who I saw at the grocery a few days ago." _

_Edward scans his memory for common links between his mother and himself. "Who?" _

"_Bella Swan." Esme pauses, waiting for her son's response. "Emmett's little sister?" _

"_Yeah," Edward croaks. "I know who she is." _

"_You'll never believe this, but"—she drops her voice to a whisper—"I think she's had a baby. Bless her heart. So young, and—"_

"_I've gotta run, Mom," Edward interrupts. "I've got class in a few. I'll talk to you later, okay?" He hangs up before his mother can say anything else. He's heard enough already. _

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks, as always, for your patience and for your thoughtful and encouraging reviews. I read and love them all (even the bad ones, although they're way less fun).<strong>

**To my amazing beta and favorite friend Tiffanyanne3: Bahama, baby. Bahama.**

**Cjesmom: Enjoy your holiday! XO**


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